Of Privates, Princesses and Dragons
by No Country For Old Men78
Summary: The Mutiny in Dubai is over, and Konrad's Command Staff have been executed for their crimes. Or have they? LTC Long leads his Exiles in a quest for redemption in a bizarre magical world. But he is not alone, he is pursued by the vengeful Captain Pilton, leader of the Damned, who wants to bring Long to justice. Dubai barely survived the Mutiny, how will the Disney-verse fare?
1. Prologue: A Party in the Storm's Eye

_(AN: So, first a bit of background. For those of those you who just joined us, this is a quasi-sequel to my other story_ Zulu Squad No Tsukaima _, a Spec Ops: The Line and Familiar of Zero crossover. And if the premise seems far-fetched, I thought to myself what is the most out-here crossover that you could do and turn into a real story, not just a one-shot or one that turns into deadfic after like 5 chapters. Now, those of your who are jumping over from ZSNT, you know this has been in the works for over two years, but I promised myself I wouldn't start this fic until my other one was finished. There will be some shout-outs and similarities and dissimilarities. Because this is a Disney crossover it will be somewhat lighter in tone than ZSNT. I say 'somewhat' because it's still a SO:TL crossover._

 _In terms of similarities it is still following the same themes as in ZSNT, themes of Hero's Journey, Redemption Quest and Coming to Terms with one's Demons, but where it deviates is that this story is about the Damned 33rd coming to terms with its actions and decisions in Dubai, before, during and after going AWOL, the botched Evacuation, and the ensuing Mutiny._

 _And like ZSNT, it will be light-hearted and humorous because this is a Disney crossover. And yes, there will be shipping and ship-teasing abound. Oh, and since there are soldiers in this fic there will be plenty of crude military humor and general political incorrectness._

 _That being said, just as ZSNT follows the overall theme and tone, cruel plot twists and Nice Job Breaking It of SO:TL, this story will have elements of that, but most of all it will reveal what exactly happened that caused the Mutiny in Dubai, and its far-reaching after-effects. Just as ZSNT followed SO:TL's single player campaign, this story will focus on the multiplayer aspect of the game._ _The two factions in this story will be comprised of elements of the 33rd, specifically the 'Damned' and the 'Exiles'. Notice I didn't use the handles 'good guys' and 'bad guys', there's a reason. Whilst the 'Exiles' are nominally the protagonists of this story, they aren't the 'good guys', anymore than the 'Damned' are the 'bad guys'. Both have their motivations, and both believe that they are acting in the best interests of the 33rd. Over the course of the story it will be up to you as the reader to determine if they are truly 'good' or 'bad'. I will publish a Dramatis Personae in the ensuing chapters but this prologue is just to whet your appetite in the meantime._

 _Also, finally I listed this as a Frozen/SO:TL crossover, because originally when I had conceived of this story it was a stand-alone, and then as I sketched it out I found other movies in the Disney-verse that could work. So, basically the 'training mission' will be one particular Disney story, then will follow the 'Frozen' mission. If there's continued interest I'll have the Damned and the Exiles duke it out in other Disney stories, then have an epic confrontation with a Big Bad from a particular Disney story. And if not I'll have a couple of chapters that segue into the final showdown between them. Basically it will mean the difference between a 150K word story and a 500K+ story, just depends on how much interest it garners._

 _Oh, and just for legal disclosure, this story is being published for funsies and giggles, not for profit, Spec Ops: The Line and its intellectual property belong to Yaeger Entertainment, and all elements of the Disney-verse including characters, worlds, stories, etc., belong to, well the all-Powerful Mouse, Disney. Don't sue, I own nothing._

* * *

 _"We are our choices..."_  
― Jean-Paul Sartre

* * *

 **(Timeline, January 12th, 2012. Dubai, 2145 hours local time.)**

To Colonel John Konrad and his staff, it had seemed only logical to throw a party. After all, the commanding officer of the 'Damned 33rd' had made his decision. Sandstorms had surrounded Dubai, the likes of which were of biblical proportions, and Konrad had volunteered his battalion to help evacuate civilians when it became clear that the Emir and his government were going to do nothing except leave. When the Pentagon ordered Konrad to leave Dubai, his command took a mere four hours to decide unanimously in favor of their commander.

So it had been announced earlier that afternoon to cheers and celebration by every soldier and civilian still in the city, and by the time the sun went down, it seemed like every one of them was partying. The night sky, clear for once in the ever-worsening storms, was lit up by fireworks and bonfires from all corners of the stricken city. Music and a general sense of merriment carried on the wind, and on this night, the last night like this Dubai would ever see, everyone was happy.

Everyone that is, except for one officer, Pilton. Captain William 'Wild Bill' Pilton, the controversial commander of the 33rd's Kilo Company, stood on the balcony of Konrad's penthouse suite at the top of the Burj Khalifa tower, seemingly oblivious to the party going on around him. Instead, the officer stared out at the city, a cigarette perched on his lips. Even choked with sand Dubai retained some of its lustre, the sand-torn skyscrapers looked like the ruins of a great castle. But it obviously didn't impress Pilton, his body language suggested he'd rather be anywhere than here. Without the slightest movement, he took a drag from his cigarette. He exhaled smoke through his nostrils and spoke up.

"If it were up to me, I'd be back at Kilo's AO right now, finishing Machiavelli's The Prince and maybe having a beer or two. And this... waste of time wouldn't even be happening."

He turned, revealing more of his face. He was shorter than average, but with piercing slate-grey eyes that seemed to bore into your soul. His ACUs were impeccably neat and pressed, the trousers expertly bloused into the tops of his desert boots. He wore neither a boonie hat nor a helmet, Pilton was bareheaded, showing off his light brown hair, cut high and tight. Even in this casual setting, the captain was carrying his sidearm, albeit in a shiny brown leather shoulder holster, instead of a thigh rig. He shifted his position and leaned his elbow on the railing as he continued.

"Seriously, those officers should be relaying orders to the men to make preparations for the upcoming Evacuation. Instead? They're boozing it up and slapping themselves on the back like the mission was already accomplished."

Adjusting the shemagh scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, Pilton lazily ashed his cigarette over the balcony. He glanced over and spoke again.

"What? You didn't think I'd know you're there?"

He shrugged.

"Well, I know. I see you just as well as you see me standing here."

The officer took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled.

"I know what you're thinking. How can he do that?"

Pilton's stony expression broke into a small grin.

"Let's just say the the Man Upstairs gave me this informed attribute."

He lowered his voice to a stage whisper.

"You know, the Almighty and Godlike Author Avatar who goes by the handle of Country Ollman? Yeah, spoiler alert, I know."

The captain resumed his normal conversation tone.

"And yes, for the record I am speaking with a South Carolina accent. I'm make a snide comment about plagiarizing a Netflix series, but I don't want to be associated with that pedo cocksucker. And I don't want to arouse the Almighty's anger."

He chuckled to himself.

"Honestly I would have preferred to meet the Almighty's second in command."

Pilton turned to the audience and gave a knowing wink.

"You know, the smoking-hot elf princess with the green hair and the vapor wear? S'a shame really. I heard she was quite the looker. All I gotta say is that 1SG Crosby is one lucky fucker..."

He finished off his cigarette and flicked the butt over the balcony.

"Well, enough small-talk, let's get down to why I'm here..."

He turned and made his way back into the penthouse. As Pilton walked past the two infinity pools he began to speak as if a teacher in a classroom explaining economics.

"Despite what the vast majority of the lying recruiters and high-speed armchair operators would have you believe, popularity isn't an indicator of good leaders in the Army. Men who have a willingness to get the job done are. And sometimes when you're making an omelette ya gotta break a few eggs, as the philosopher would say. Unfortunately, that's the reason I'm here."

He slid open the door, and a cacophony of voices burst forth like a radio's volume being turned on.

"Some days I feel like I'm the only sane man in this battalion. All the company commanders, with a coupla exceptions, think that just because they're popular with their men that they're good leaders. That just isn't the case."

He paused at the entrance.

"Like I said, these 'mandatory fun' shin-digs aren't my scene, but it would be considered rude to excuse myself from such an event, and sometimes you must play the game to get ahead."

Pilton gave the audience a sly look.

"Watch and learn..."

Inside the penthouse a large party was going on. Dozens of uniformed men, some ACUs, others in blue Class A's or the older 'pickle suits' milling about: the entire officer corps of the Damned 33rd. Pilton expertly weaves through the crowd, carefully avoiding being drawn into a conversation. All the way, he provided a running commentary, pointing out various officers.

"That's Lieutenant Benson, the acting Air Wing commander,"

Pilton said, pointing to an officer wearing 1st Lieutenant bars on his dress blues. He was young, tall and lanky with bright blue eyes, looking pensive and making designs in the sand garden by the kitchen.

"He's reliable enough. But he's a thinker, and fancies himself an amateur philosopher. When this becomes a ground war- and trust me, it will- we'll see how he performs."

Pilton stared derisively at a group of men laughing around the kitchen counter-top. He stopped by the balcony overlooking the penthouse's great room. The captain jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the officers.

"Those three are exactly what's wrong with this fucking battalion. George Glynn, Ivan Wright, and Chris Hammond, some of my fellow Company Commanders. The lot of them are idealistic and undisciplined, totally blind to the harsh reality of our situation, and their men reflect that. When the shit hits the fan, they're going to be the ones to choke up, and that would be fatal for the 33rd."

From across the room, a voice calls out. It's source, a blonde officer wearing Captain's insignia, is obviously a little drunk and slurring his words.

"Hey Bill! You look miserable! Why don't you have a drink?!"

Without missing a beat, Pilton gives the man a grin and fires back.

"I'm fine, John. Wouldn't want to deprive you of any of your booze anyway."

As soon as the drunk officer turn away the grin left Pilton's face, and he looked back to the audience and rolled his eyes as he descended the stairs to the large open great room of Konrad's penthouse suite.

"That's Captain John Foley, the commander of Headquarters Company, if you can call that a command. With Lieutenant Colonel Long running the staff, Foley's sole responsibility seems to be pestering me."

Arriving at the bottom of the stairs Pilton glanced around the room, and locked eyes with a tall officer with a silver oak-leaf cluster insignia on his dress blues. He had a classical handsome features, with dark brown eyes, a lantern jaw and graying black hair. The two men exchange a slight nod of acknowledgement.

"Speak of the Devil."

Pilton jerked a thumb at the officer.

"That is Lieutenant Colonel David Long, the only officer in the 33rd that I openly despise. I busted my ever lovin' ass to get ahead, I should've made major by now."

He pointed to a Master Parachutist badge velcro'd to his uniform, under his CIB but above the US Army tape.

"This ain't just for show, I requested, and got, a transfer from the 509th Airborne to the 33rd Infantry. Why? Because the 'Damned 33rd' is the most highly decorated battalion to serve in OIF and OEF. Bluntly put, they're where the action was. If you wanted to accumulate medals, get ahead and get noticed, you have to be part of the 'Damned'."

He paused as a burly man in ACU's with a major's insignia bustled past him with a tray of food. The man is about Pilton's age, but looks younger because of his round boyish face. The officer grinned at Pilton and offered his tray, speaking in a thick N'Awlins accent.

"Hey, Capt'n! How y'all doin' tonite now?"

Pilton gave a mostly genuine smile.

"Doing just fine, sir."

"Aw hell, y'all don't need t'stand on ceremony, Bill! Tonite I'm just Chef Bruce, jus' like Emril, Bam!"

He offered the captain one of the canapes on his tray.

"Try one of my specialties: pimento cheese stuffed hush puppies!"

Pilton paused, then took one of the canapes and popped it in his mouth. As he chewed, a large grin spreads across Pilton's face.

"Well, shit sir, doesn't matter where we end up in, your mad cookin' skills can whip up a delicious bite!"

The major grinned.

"Well, shucks, thank you Bill!"

Pilton took another hush puppy.

"Your cooking is shit hot as always, sir. Speaking of cooking, you have to share your recipe for gumbo with me some time."

Gavin gave a deprecating smile.

"That's a mighty fine compliment, but y'all know I can't share my family recipe. But thank you all the same, Bill."

Gavin said 'thank you' but it sounded more like 'thang-kew' because of his Yat dialect. The major glanced back.

"Aw shit, looks the Ol' Man and his command squad wanted a taste before the piranhas hoovered them up, so I gotta split now!"

As the major left, Pilton slowly ate the hush puppy, obviously savoring the flavors.

"Major Bruce Gavin, commander of Bravo Company, the mechanized infantry company of the 33rd. And as you might have inferred by his accent, he's from New Orleans. Gavin's a good joe, I respect him. You see, like me, he came from a dirt-poor family, joined the Army and mustang'd his way up to become an officer. He's also a helluva cook."

He glanced back at the retreating figure.

"I would love to have him on my side when shit hits the fan."

As soon as he finished the hush puppy the smile fell from his face.

"Well, enough playing nice, let's get back to business."

The officer paused in front of Konrad's medal display case.

"It's not that I don't like Konrad, it's just a spent a lot of time sucking up to his predecessor, Colonel Harvie. Harvie had commanded the 33rd since the 1st Gulf War, he was tough but fair, and a damned fine officer. Needless to say I wormed my way into his good graces, and for a while there it seemed like only a matter of time before I made major and got on his command staff."

Pilton's face contorted into a scowl.

"...but then he had to go and get his stupid ass killed in Kabul, by a fucking IED no less. Konrad succeeded him, and all my hard work went down into the blue waters of the latrine. It was that prick Long that convinced Konrad to assign me to Kilo Company, a bunch of oxygen thieves and walking clusterfucks, the lot of them. They said I had what it took to turn Kilo Company around and make soldiers out of them..."

His scowl deepened.

"...But I knew better, I saw it for what it was; a demotion to a bullshit post."

Pilton glanced down at the display case which held Konrad's medals.

"See, Konrad and Dave Long are buddies; they go way back."

The captain paused.

"Now, don't get me wrong I respect Konrad, he's a good man. Do I like him? Not really, but all you have to do is look at his record, and you can't argue with that..."

He gestured to the medal display case.

"Hell, he's got the Medal of Honor, and you don't get that bein' soft. Man's a fucking hero. But, even the great hero Achilles has his weak heel."

He paused in his monologue to look back as Konrad and Long shared a laugh.

"Konrad's weak heel is his loyalty to his friend Long. He's totally blind to what a terrible officer his second in command is. That's Long's one strength; he's well-liked, adored even, by almost the entire battalion, so most fail to see his many flaws. But behind that charisma, he's weak and indecisive, a product of the culture of risk-aversion and conformity that permeates today's military. In a worst case scenario, and mark my words, that is what this city is becoming, David Long will never be able to do what is necessary to survive."

Oblivious to Pilton's aside, Long waves the captain over to where he is standing with Konrad, Sergeant Major Wolfe, and Major Taylor. Without hesitation, Pilton put on a fake smile and made his way over. He acknowledges the 33rd's XO with a feigned smile and grabbed a beer from Captain Foley without missing a stride.

Pilton winks conspiratorially at the audience.

"Time to play the game, be back in a sec..."

He turned and laughed at one of Long's jokes, joining in the merriment as if his previous discourse didn't happen.

But then, in a flash, Pilton disappeared, then reappeared in the ruins of the failed Evacuation. He is standing on a pedestrian bridge that overlooks the interstate, clogged with wrecked buses, ambulances, vans, cars, even luxury cars like Bentleys and Ferraris. The captain looked at an improvised sandbag fortification, where the desiccated corpses of two soldiers lay, mummified by the blowing sands. His face softened as he spoke.

"Staff Sergeant Robert Arnott and Specialist Javier Davies. They were part of Kilo's 3rd platoon, I believe."

He looks at the audience, and his hard look returned.

"When I dream, and granted, I don't do that here lately, but when I do, I see all the faces of my men, the ones lost in the storm."

He gestured to the two corpses.

"Their deaths and the other casualties of Kilo company are the fault of those spineless officers under Long's command, their blood is on his hands."

He pointed to the ruins.

"This was where him, Foley and Hammond should have stepped up to the plate and done what was necessary to ensure the survival of 33rd, and my men, instead they dithered trying to save civilians."

Pilton strode up to one of the ropes and rappelled down into the ruins of the Evacuation.

"In the end it didn't matter, when the dust settle over 1,500 men, women and children died because of ineffective officers."

He walked among the wrecked cars, passed a large charter bus with suitcases strewn everywhere. The captain paused to nudge a camel's corpse with his boot.

"Yeah I know you've seen it all before, but let me tell you it was something terrible to witness...Almost as if that sandstorm was some sort of sentient monster."

Pilton stepped around the wrecked bus, and the scenery changed. Now the captain walked through the ruins of Dubai International Airport. A protracted gun-battle raged near one of the international gates as he continued talking.

"This was where it all came to a head; this is the start of the Mutiny, and when the 33rd went to war against itself. When that spineless coward Long turned Konrad's command squad against him."

He smiled grimly.

"You see, after the failed Evacuation, Konrad understood the score. He knew that difficult decisions had to be made. He knew that the sandstorms wouldn't let us leave Dubai. So he did the sensible thing and ordered the 33rd to gather up as many supplies, food, water, and wait out the storms. Hell, he even decided to take care of the surviving civvies. Which is more than I would have done."

Pilton turned his attention back to the gun battle as a HUMVEE blew up, courtesy of an RPG.

"But Long, he was too weak. A fucking West Point football scholarship armchair operator who didn't have the stomach to take difficult decisions. Like when Konrad ordered 5 men, family men mind you, executed publicly for trying to steal water..."

He paused in front of a ruined tanker truck.

"Now, I'm not heartless, I know it was a tough call to make, but if the Old Man hadn't ordered them killed, and for others to see as an example then others would try. And before you know it, you'd have an mob of a thousand thirsty insurgents swarming the Aquatic Colosseum. But Long? He thought it was 'too extreme, too draconian'. He didn't understand the concept of the 'lesser of two evils', he didn't see the big picture, that Konrad understood; that to ensure the survival of 5,000 civilians he was willing to sacrifice 5 desperate men. So what did Long do? Bastard convinced Konrad's command squad to confront him about it. Made some bs case about 'cutting our losses' and maybe defying the Pentagon's orders wasn't such a great idea..."

The captain snorted derisively.

"Considering Long was the biggest cheerleader for staying and helping, that makes him a class A chickenshit coward."

Pilton jerked a thumb over his shoulder to the Exiles and Damned firing on each other.

"Which lead to this. Long and Foley turned the command squad, and three whole companies against Konrad. You see, one of Foley's boys found two intact 747's at the airport. Apparently they were sheltered from the storms in a maintenance hangar. So Long and Foley come up with this cunning plan to fuel those jets up, and use them to desert. To abandon their posts, their comrades, and their CO Konrad. Of course their excuse was that Konrad was off his rocker and they were off to warn Command."

He chuckled humorlessly.

"Hell, they would have gotten away with it too, except they were stupid enough to try to convince Wolfe to join their cause. Now, if Colonel Konrad is the brains of the 33rd, then the Battalion Sergeant Major Wolfe's it's heart. He was sympathetic to what Long was saying, but in the end, he was still a soldier, and a good soldier doesn't abandon his post."

He stopped.

"Y'know, a picture's worth a thousand words, why not just see how it went down..."

The scene dissolved into a ruined department store, the Dubai Market Plaza. It's open to the air and camo netting provides shelter from the burning sun for Kilo Company. Off to the side several soldiers are cleaning the sand out of the engine compartment of a Stryker IVF, while in a shelter several other soldiers work out in an improvised gym. Captain Pilton is sitting in a leather lounge chair under a large beach umbrella going over a stack of after action reports. CSM Wolfe approached, and was greeted by several of the soldiers, before he stopped by Pilton's chair.

Knowing protocol the sergeant major waited until Pilton was done reviewing his reports, then cleared his throat. Without looking up the captain greeted Wolfe.

"`Afternoon, Sar'ent Major."

Wolfe saluted the officer.

"Sir."

The captain returned the salute and spoke.

"What brings you to Kilo's corner of Paradise Lost?"

Wolfe looked uncomfortable.

"Ah, sir, there is something I would like to discuss with you...if you're not too busy."

Pilton smiled what appeared to be a genuine smile.

"Well, shit, are you kidding? For the 33rd's senior-most staff NCO I'll make the time! Pull up a chair and take a load off, Sar'ent Major."

The senior NCO fidgeted in his boots.

"Well...sir, what I have to say is private, for your own ears only."

The captain raised an eyebrow.

"Ah, gossip from the E-4 Mafia, huh?"

CSM Wolfe held up a hand.

"Ah, no sir, nothing like that."

He looked around.

"You know what, sir, sorry to waste your time. I'll just come back later."

Pilton turned his head to address the audience.

"Here's where I knew what he had to say must've been some serious shit. You see, Wolfe's been in the Army for over 30 years, longer even than the Old Man Konrad. Wolfe's seen it all. Panama, Grenada, Berlin, Gulf War 1, Kosovo, Afghanistan, Iraq and probably more shit that's classified. Guy's got a chest full of ribbons and hash marks up to his elbows. He's tough, he's made of galvanized steel. So when someone as calm and hard as Wolfe is nervous, you know it's more than just idle E4 Mafia gossip."

He turned and gave Wolfe a reassuring smile.

"Hey, don't worry about it, I got this."

The captain shut his report folder and stood up out of his chair, and grabbed his M4. He barked an order out to one of the soldiers on the Stryker.

"Lt. Hatcher! Take over while I'm gone!"

He heard a 'roger that' and led Wolfe through a doorway that led to a dimly lit corridor. Once upon a time it was a gallery that displayed overpriced jewelry for oil sheik's trophy wives, but now it was just a place to take respite from the desert heat. Pilton noted that non of the display cases were looted. It made sense, for one thing the 33rd may be AWOL but they were not thieves; they still had their military discipline. And more importantly, diamond jewelry was worthless in a place like Dubai.

Pilton gestured to two chairs by a cooler. Wolfe unslung his weapon and took a seat, and Pilton followed suit. The captain opened the lid of the cooler and pulled out a beer. He offered one to Wolfe, who declined.

"Sorry sir, I'm on duty."

"Hell, Wolfe you're the senior staff NCO, you're always on duty! Anyways, it's okay these aren't rations, it's Kilo Company's private stash. One of my boys ran across some rich guy's man cave that still had electricity and was able to salvage a plasma TV and an Xbox."

The captain popped the top off the beer and took a sip.

"And he also had a well-stocked beer fridge."

Instead the sergeant major took a bottled water and for a few minutes just savored the cool water. Finally Pilton decided to break the ice.

"So, Wolfe, what's on your mind?"

"Well, sir, it's like this..."

As the sergeant major continued to talk, Pilton turned and addressed the audience.

"And that's when he told me of Long's treachery..."

The scene dissolved again, this time back to the gun battle at the airport. In the background there was a Emirates Airways 747-800 on fire, billowing out clouds of choking black smoke. Pilton pointed out the burning wreckage.

"Well, that was one of those coward's tickets out. Fortunately my boys were there to stop them with a well-aimed RPG."

Pilton gestured to the chaotic gun-battle as a bullet ricochets off the tarmac right in front of his foot. He didn't flinch as he continued.

"After that, Long ordered his men to open fire to preserve the last remaining passenger jet, and with those shots fired the 33rd went to war against itself and committed fratricide. Individual soldiers took grievances they had against other soldiers and used the Mutiny as an excuse to settle old scores, whilst entire platoons and companies took sides."

He paused and watched as one of the Exiles manned a .50 cal turret on a HUMVEE and opened fire on a platoon of Kilo Company, who scrambled to take cover.

"...Six months. That's how long it took for Konrad to restore order. For six long months the Mutiny raged on, almost tearing Dubai apart in the process. The Exiles, as the men loyal to Long called themselves, made initial gains, taking large chunks of Dubai in the process, but in the end the Damned, as the ones loyal to Konrad called themselves, had more numbers, and more firepower, we pushed `em back. In last few weeks of the Mutiny, in desperation the Exiles decided to train and arm the locals, who in turn evolved into the Insurgents..."

He held up an hand as if to whisper conspiratorially.

"Spoiler alert, the other plane gets destroyed, and Long and his men, well, you were there when Walker found `em, or what was left of `em."

Pilton continued walking into the ruined airport, stopping at a gift shop. All the glass was destroyed by the sandstorms, and anything edible or drinkable was long gone. Interestingly enough, two mannequins wearing designer clothes stood at the cash register, a large wad of Emirates dirham stuffed in the female's plastic hand. The captain regarded the scene, then spoke without turning.

"Why not show how the Mutiny ended?"

He turned to face the audience.

"C'mon, you know you want to see Long's final moments as a free man. Plus, as an added bonus, we're going to get a cameo from an old friend."

The captain paused.

"...Nope, not giving away any more, you're going to have to trust me."

There was a long pause before Pilton smiled.

"Glad to see that your curiosity got the better of you. So, without further ado..."

The scene dissolved to the dead of night. Pilton took cover behind a sand dune, near a crashed jetliner. He held a finger up to his lips and pointed in the distance. There was a lone HUMVEE driving at full speed towards the desert.

LTC Long and Hammond, along with two last Exiles, attempt to flee into the desert by night. The battle for the airport was over, its outcome never in question. All that was left was to flee, and hopefully make it back to civilization and tell the world of Konrad's insanity. Their vehicle was getting bogged down in the sand, while a pair of Black Hawk helicopters buzz overhead. The driver swerved to avoid gunfire whilst the passenger frantically spoke into his longe-range radio.

"...I say again, to anyone that is listening this is Checkmate Five Actual Romeo, transmitting to anyone who is listening...we are elements of a U.S. Army Battalion stranded in Dubai, requesting immediate evacuation, over!"

Their HUMVEE was bathed in a blinding light as the nose-mounted spotlight on the lead Black Hawk caught up to them. Tracer fire from the miniguns streamed down at them, and it took every bit of the Exile soldier's training to avoid them.

Then there was a loud _THUNK!_ and a black cloud of oily smoke stained the windshield as a high-caliber round hit the engine block. Too late, the HUMVEE ground to a halt as the engine coughed and sputtered to a stop.

The driver turned to the two passengers in the rear. One of them was LTC Long, the leader of the 33rd's Mutiny, the other was Captain Chris Hammond, his adjunct.

"Sir, we'll provide covering fire as a distraction, you have to get out of this!"

The other soldier, a young private operating the radio, also chimed in, but Long held up his gloved hand.

"Save it, Private. Either we all get out of this, or none of us get out of this. Enough of our boys have died today, I'll not have you guys' deaths on my conscience. Even if it means facing Konrad."

Hammond peered through the window. The one Black Hawk helicopter had them pinned in place, but he could see the other chopper had settled into a hover and figures were fast-roping down. Long put a reassuring hand on the driver's shoulder.

"It's alright. You did everything you could. I know you don't want to hear this, but we're going to surrender. The odds of our survival are higher, and I don't want you to throw your lives away."

The driver turned to the radio operator, a young private, who set down his receiver and hung his head. Long could tell the boy was conflicted, but finally he nodded in consent. At Long's signal, all four of the doors opened at once, and they stuck their hands out the door frames, while the leader of the Exiles shouted out over the howling wind and the buzzing of the chopper's engines.

"We're coming out and we're unarmed!"

Long looked over to the two soldiers, then to Hammond and nodded. He stepped out into the blinding glare of the spotlight, his hands raised above his head. Hammond followed suit. A voice blared from the Black Hawk that hovered above them _._

 _"No sudden movements, you are surrounded!"_

Beams of red laser light pinned the driver and the radio operator as soon as they emerged from the truck to the spot. The two soldiers froze, their hands in the air, the driver could see that they were surrounded, and he could make out figures emerging from the darkness. As they stepped into the light the driver let out a gasp. He saw that their assailants weren't wearing Army Multicams or ACU's. These soldiers were dressed in sinister black uniforms, wearing orange and white armored shoulder pads. Their faces were concealed behind scarves made to look like skull faces, and mirrored orange goggles, adding to their inhuman appearance.

Their captors were Zulu Squad, the feared elite heavies of the 'Damned' faction of the 33rd. He turned to the radio operator but saw the young private had panicked and had turned to run.

"No! Don't, you'll-"

But the driver's words were cut short as several beams of infrared light pinned their chests, then loud cracks echoed in the desert night. Long stared in horror as the two soldiers crumpled to the ground like marionettes with the strings cut.

Chris Hammond looked over to Long, but his commander was still staring in shock at the two dead soldiers. One of the Zulu Squad soldiers, obviously their leader, stepped forward.

"Sir, I need you and Captain Hammond to get down on the ground with your hands behind your head."

The voice was cold, clipped, and monotone. But something about it seemed familiar and jogged Long's memory.

"Crosby?"

The leader let go of his FN P90 submachine gun and let it dangle against his armored assault vest. He pulled back his goggles, then pulled down his skull balaclava, and fixed the exiled officers with a cold glare. Long suppressed a gasp. He recognized the face, but the eyes, once a bright blue now were cold like ice in a Siberian winter. Robert Crosby was the 33rd's Battalion 1st Sergeant, a senior NCO second only to Sgt. Major Wolfe, but now he was also apparently the leader of Zulu Squad.

"Sir, you are to comply with my commands, or else."

Long tried to reason with him.

"Look, sergeant, there's more to it than just that...the Old Man, Konrad, he's let go of the rope! He's not himself, he's going to lead the 33rd to damnation to feed his ego and his fantasy of becoming the ultimate hero-"

His words were interrupted by the _crack!_ of a pistol shot going off. As it turned out one of the Exile soldiers was still alive, and Crosby just finished the wounded soldier off in cold blood. He lowered the still smoking massive handgun, a Desert Eagle, and holstered it into his thigh rig, then spoke again in the same cold-clipped voice.

"Sir, with all due respect, your actions tore the Damned 33rd a-fucking-part, you're one to talk. You and Captain Hammond are face charges of mutiny, fratricide and attempted desertion."

Long glanced over to Hammond, whose eyes were wide with fright as more Zulu Squad soldiers emerged from the darkness. One of them, brandishing a SCAR-H, aimed his weapon at the officer. Long turned his attention back to Crosby.

"I don't suppose we can negotiate Hammond's release for my surrender? Under Article 3, the Geneva Convention demands-"

That earned a scoff from the Zulu Squad leader.

"Demands? If you haven't noticed, we aren't in civilization anymore. And as for your sitch, we have you surrounded and you are unarmed, you're not in any position to demand anything."

He patted the Desert Eagle on his thigh.

"I, on the other hand, am in a position to grant you...nothing. Except your apprehension."

He turned and nodded. Several Zulu Squad soldiers advanced, covering the two officers, while two other Zulus grabbed Long and Hammond, zip-tying their wrists together, not gently either. Crosby continue.

"We've already rounded up the rest of Konrad's command squad, you're the last two."

Hammond spoke up as he was hauled up to his feet.

"W-what's going to happen to us?"

One of other soldiers spoke up. Like Crosby, he also spoke in a cold, clipped voice.

"Execution, if order is to be maintained an example has to be made."

Long was also pulled to his feet, protesting.

"But that's barbaric! How can you do that? We're soldiers!"

Crosby fixed his captives with a cold glare.

"We are soldiers, you are the ones who are mutineers. Soldiers follow orders. Something you know nothing about!"

Pilton watched the exchange from his vantage point on the airline jet's wing. He continued watching as Long and Hammond were led back to the Black Hawk. When the chopper lifted off the captain started walking back towards the ruined fuselage.

"Those two Exile soldiers got off easy, as far as I'm concerned. Should have been burned along with their mutinous CO..."

He glanced over to the audience and gave a sadistic grin.

"...And yeah, I know for those of you who are coming in from the other story its jarring to see your cuddly, witty and occasionally sarcastic Sgt. Crosby who mingled with cute witches with big eyes and even bigger titties acting like a cold-blooded bastard, but trust me, he was a completely different man back then."

Pilton's eyes softened as his disposition sobered.

"Fact is, the Mutiny broke him, just as it broke a lot of good men."

He entered the fuselage, and the scene changed again.

"Which brings me here."

He turned a corner, and this time was standing at the very edge of the storm wall. Pilton stared at a stop sign at the edge of the storm wall. He then turned to the audience again.

"Oh, that reminds me. You're reading this, probably because you were a fan of the game, and/or the previous story, so that means you probably don't shock easy. But on the off chance that you're one of those pussy civvies who blundered on this because you're a huge fan of the new wave of Disney movies, which quite frankly in my humble opinion suck, you can stop reading right now. If you're someone who gets triggered easily by violence, toxic masculinity, military humor, graphic violence, harsh language, political incorrectness, objectification of women, gun porn, junk food, the NRA, and the Alt-Right, stop reading right now."

Pilton chuckled.

"Sorry, just checking to see if you were still paying attention."

The soldier turned away from the stop sign, walking out towards the Storm Wall.

"And no, for the record I don't support any of that political shit, can't stand those assholes almost as much as a I can't stand the SJW's. Buncha high-speed low drag fuckwits the lot of them, only difference is one faction roots for the left and the other roots for the right, all acting 'triggered'."

He paused.

"Come to think of it, if you're one of those pussy snowflakes that use the term "triggering", you need to stop reading just on general principle. And don't have any kids, while you're at it. World's got enough retards as it is."

As he approached the Storm Wall, the sky darkened, as if the storm was threatening to overtake Pilton. But instead, the scene dissolved again, revealing a darkened cavern lit by an ominous red and orange magma that bubbled out of crevices in the floor. Pilton seemed unconcerned and pulled out another cigarette.

"Oh, yeah forgot to mention. I got killed in the opening salvo. Bastard Long shot me himself."

He lit a cigarette, and heard a roar overhead.

"Which is why I'm here. In the afterlife. And no, I'm not in Hell."

Pilton paused as he looked up at a dragon flying overhead.

"Well, yeah, technically it's not Hell it's called the Dark Realm, and basically functions as the afterlife where all the bad folks go when they die, but I'm just visiting."

The dragon roared again, and landed near Pilton. He took a drag from his cigarette and looked back at the audience.

"Oh, excuse me, I have to take this..."

Pilton strode over to the dragon, seemingly unconcerned that the enormous monster could swallow him whole in one bite. Instead, Captain Pilton started a conversation with the creature. After the dragon spoke in a hissing, rumbling voice like continents colliding, Pilton nodded once, and with that the dragon flew off without another word. Captain Pilton turned to face the audience.

"Well, luck is apparently on my side today, even if God isn't. That big guy just made me an offer I just couldn't refuse."

He paused.

"The TL:DR version is, I continue Kilo's mission to apprehend Long, because apparently he and his group of Exiles are out relaxing, smoking and joking and generally having a great time going AWOL. I'm tasked to bring him to justice, and I'll even get help along the way. Yeah, yeah I have to throw a coupla bones His way by having Kilo Company do some of His dirty work, but nothing we haven't done in the past."

Pilton took another drag from his cigarette, exhaled some smoke.

"Now, I know what you're probably thinking...Pilton, why are you dealing with that monster, he's clearly the bad guy blah-blah-blah...well, that's the idealism talkin'. Now, idealism is a wonderful think in fairy tales and teen-aged love stories, but in the real world it's also a load of horseshit."

He jerked a thumb towards the dragon flying off into the darkness.

"You see a monster, I see an asset, and a means to an end. Hell, in Afghanistan we made deals with warlords that would make Tall Dark and Scaly there look like a choir boy. No different. And if he's tellin' the truth, hell I'd shake hands with the devil himself if it meant getting a shot at Long, and making that bastard pay for tearing the 33rd apart."

A door appeared in front of Pilton, and he started towards it.

"So, I know what you're thinking, am I the bad guy in this story? Well, truth be told, if this was a conventional fairy tale, then yes, I would be the villain."

He smirked as he exhaled smoke through his nose.

"But, given the source material, we both know this isn't going to be a conventional story, isn't it?"

He shrugged and finished off his cigarette, then opened the door. Just before disappearing for the last time, Pilton spoke.

"To answer that question, you're just going to have to follow me, and find out for yourself if I've earned that title or not."

* * *

Terminology:

AO: Area of Operation

Mustang'd: When a soldier rises up through the ranks as enlisted and enters Officer Candidate School as an NCO.

E-4 Mafia: An informal group of Specialists who are 'rank stripes don't matter'. The E-4 Mafia is also a gossip mill, it has all the info on anything you need, if one person does know, they can pass it through the line until they find someone who does and it will get back to the original person within a very short period of time, someone, somewhere knows everything, everywhere.

Hash Mark: A ribbon worn on the sleeve of US Army Class A's, or dress uniform.

 _(AN: Well, hopefully that's enough to whet your appetite. And yes, in case you didn't get it I'm basing Captain Pilton off Frank Underwood (at least the first two seasons, before HOC started to suck), so his asides and Fourth Wall Breaks will be a thing. I also wanted to make a more nuanced foil to LTC David Long, I hate one-dimensional villains who start out as raging revenge seekers. All monsters didn't start out that way, they started out gradually crossing the line until they jump off the slippery slope and get more and more obsessed, just like Walker in the game. The Walker in the beginning of SO:TL wanted to save people to be the hero, just as the Walker at the end of the game wanted to avenge Lugo to be the hero. As for whether or not Pilton will cross the line like Walker and become the villain, well you'll just have to find out.  
As for the structure of this story, if you're familiar (no pun intended) with ZSNT this story will have a large cast of characters, including characters from other franchises. These first few chapters will be introducing characters and even doing a sort of 'training mission' like in the video game. Once all the characters have been introduced there will be Chapters that will be story arcs divided into different parts. I'm doing this because I don't want to make the same error of having a 200+ chapter light novel, this way it will be easier for people to catch up to chapters they want to read and re-read._

 _Also, I am shooting for a monthly update schedule, and that will be a 3K-6K chapter, depending on the context. The prologue chapters introducing the characters may come out quicker, but that is because I have them sketched out and anywhere from 50-80% done. So stay tuned, Fav and Follow if you want moar, and if you like or even if you dislike, don't forget to leave a review!)_


	2. They Live

**Prologue Part Two: They Live**

* * *

 _ **Bio Profile: Captain Pilton**_

 _ **Faction: The Damned**_

There are four types of people who join the military. For some, it's family trade. Others are patriots, eager to serve their country. Next there are those for whom it's a choice of boot camp or jail. Then there's the kind who just want the legal means of killing other people. Captain William 'Wild Bill' Pilton is one of the latter. Growing up dirt poor in rural South Carolina, the youngest of six boys, Bill was often neglected by his parents, passed over in favor of his older brothers. He struggled to make friends, and was often teased and picked on at school for his family's poverty and his short stature. Pilton trudged through it all, clawing to escape the circumstances he was born into, but the struggle left its mark. Bill Pilton grew into a bitter, angry young man, something always seemed to be smoldering inside him, as one classmate said. Beware the fury of a patient man, said another.

After graduating from high school he joined the US Army ROTC at the University of South Carolina, ostensibly majoring in Political Science, but it became clear to anyone that Pilton had very little interest in pursuing a career in anything other than a soldier. The ROTC's strict curriculum soon became an outlet for his pent-up resentments, as he channeled that into becoming the best, soaring to the top in his cadre. Pilton pushed himself ruthlessly, accepting only absolute perfection, qualifying as an expert on every weapons system available to him. While his peers would spend their evenings and weekends at the local bars or frat house parties doing keg-stands, he would take on additional duties, spending hours at a time preparing his uniforms for even the most cursory inspections. When he commissioned as a 2nd Lieutenant he graduated at the top of his class, and it was no surprise to his peers and instructors when he joined the infantry after graduation.

As soon as he was able he applied for and was accepted into Jump School at Fort Benning, where once again his dogged determination and perfectionism had him earn his Parachutist Badge after the course. He went on to be transferred to the 509th Airborne, where he saw action in Afghanistan and Iraq, where he wasted no time distinguishing himself in many skirmishes and battles.

Yet for all of his achievements Pilton still struggled to connect with people, and his perfectionism alienated both his fellow officers and the enlisted men under his command alike. Moreover, his dark side revealed itself to the world with increasing frequency as he became more and more jaded from the constant urban warfare during Operation Iraqi Freedom, and manifested itself in a variety of ways.

Pilton minimized the authority of his subordinates, ensuring that power over the running of his platoon remained solely in his hands, often lost his temper with his juniors and seniors alike, and openly questioned and argued with his superiors. Despite this, he made Captain in October of 2004, and was transferred to the 33rd Mobile Infantry Battalion, nicknamed the 'Damned 33rd'.

Although Pilton initially made favorable impressions with the 33rd's commanding officer, Colonel Harvie, all of Pilton's ambitions were shattered after the IED attack in 2005 that took Harvie's life and several other senior commanders. The 33rd's command was restructured, and Harvie's XO, John Konrad, was promoted to Colonel and assumed command. Pilton was disillusioned that all of his hard work was for nothing, but the twisting of the knife, from his perspective, was that Konrad appointed LTC Long as his XO, whom Pilton openly hated.

He was further embittered when, at Long's suggestion, Konrad appointed Pilton to be in charge of Kilo Company. Pilton considered it a demotion, as Kilo was known to be a dumping ground for misfits, shammers and ASVAB waivers. In reality Konrad saw Pilton's perfectionism as a perfect cure for the mediocre aspects of Kilo.

But, in spite of his misgivings, Pilton assumed command of the Kilo Company, and ran his company through intimidation and Machiavellian machinations. Specifically through skillfully manipulating senior ranking NCO's, like Sergeant First Class Barnes, who in turn was in charge of 2nd Platoon. 2nd Platoon considered to be a dumping ground for the worst of the worst discipline-wise. Between Barnes and Kilo's 1st Sergeant Dossler, nicknamed 'The Interrogator', Pilton did turn Kilo Company around, turning them into violent sociopaths and stone-cold killers. Konrad had heard rumors of the draconian disciplinary measures Pilton used, as well as the whispers of 'blanket parties' and humiliating punishments that the platoon leaders would mete out on their charges, but in the end the colonel could not argue with the results. Kilo Company was now one of the most combat-effective infantry companies in the 33rd.

In Afghanistan, especially in December of 2011 before the fall of Kabul, Kilo Company's methods of rooting out insurgents and keeping the onslaught of Islamic Caliphate were seen as extreme even by elements of the US military contingent outside of the 33rd. Like Konrad, Pilton took the fall of Kabul extremely hard, considering it a failure of weak bureaucrats in Washington and armchair generals in the Pentagon.

In Dubai, Pilton was also enthused about defying the Pentagon's orders to leave, although his motivations had little to do with saving civilians. It was, in his own words, to "stick it to those dickless fuckups in Washington." During the preparation for the Evacuation Pilton followed Konrad's orders zealously and without question, earning him the grudging respect of the Colonel if not his trust. Pilton seemed to relish the increasingly violent measures the 33rd used to keep the refugees in line, and came to be feared and hated by the locals. It soon became clear to 1st Lt. McPherson that Pilton was losing his already tenuous grip on sanity, and he begged Konrad for a new assignment, which the Colonel denied. This only served to deepen the chasm between McPherson and Pilton.

In the aftermath of the failed Evacuation, Pilton manipulated SGM Wolfe into revealing his knowledge of LTC Long's plan to escape Dubai with the help of two intact Emirates Airways 747 jumbo jets. Blackmailing the sergeant major into keeping quiet, Pilton set his designs on Long's position as XO, and took it upon himself to confront the 33rd's wayward second-in-command on the runway of Dubai's sand swept airport.

There, he confronted LTC Long. Holding four soldiers who were to pilot the jetliners at gunpoint Pilton demanded that Long stand down and surrender into his custody pending a court-martial for desertion and dereliction of duty. When Long refused, Pilton shot one of the soldiers in cold blood, and Long order his ment to return fire. In the end, Pilton's arrogance and selfishness was his downfall, as Long's force greatly outnumbered him. He was cut down on the runway alongside Barnes and most of his company, save for those who happened to be on limited duty and LT McPherson, who was purposely left behind. Though few among the 33rd missed the erratic officer, his destruction of the 747's destroyed Long's chances for escape, and the perceived massacre of Pilton and his company sparked the Mutiny between the Exiles and the Damned.

* * *

 _(AN: As indicated above_ _I will be posting bio profiles that flesh out the backstories of some of the characters. Some, like LTC Long, are native to the game SO:TL and some are OC's. If it's too annoying or if you feel it detracts from the narrative, then just LMK._

 _So, here's another chapter, unfortunately it's still just setting up the story and introducing more pieces to the board, so to speak. It's going to take another two or three chapters before things really get going, but the good news is these chapters should be posting fairly quickly. It should go without saying, but the SO:TL verse takes place in an alternate timeline, where the timetable for the draw down of troops in Afghanistan was moved up, and as a result Kabul fell to insurgents. I did this because several times in the game SO:TL Walker refers to the Fall of Kabul, which of course didn't happen (yet), so to make it work I just made it AU._

 _Also for those who aren't familiar with the game, or if it's been a while, the opening scene of this chapter is the last stage of the Bridge episode of Spec Ops: The Line, where Walker confronts one last Trooper, a .50 cal turret and several Zulu Squad soldiers before triggering the 'A Bridge Too Far' achievement award. If you've played the game, then it will be obvious..._

 _Anyways, On with the Show!)_

* * *

 **(June 28th, 2012, The Gatehouse, Dubai. 19:50 hours local time)**

 _"Shit! Iceman is down, I say again Crosby is down! The command center is overrun!"_

PFC Ken Mayfield shuddered and glanced fearfully at the 33rd's last Heavy Trooper, now in command of the Gatehouse that the leader of Zulu Squad was dead. Everyone thought 1SG Robert Crosby, callsign _Iceman_ , was invincible, because he was the only member of the 33rd to survive an encounter with the dreaded Delta Force team not once but three times. Now he was gone. The voice came back on the radio, as SPC Rodriguez, one of the other Zulu Squad soldiers, responded.

 _"Taking heavy fire! Fuck! I'm hit!"_

Rodriguez barely choked that out before the radio went dead. A cold finger of fear stabbed Mayfield in the gut as he stared out at across the sandbag emplacements and netting. The Gatehouse's last holdout, a fortified series of sandbags and a .50 cal 'Ma Deuce' emplacement on the roof, seemed otherworldly, as flares bathed the area in a ghostly greenish light. He heard a voice speak up beside him.

"I-it's okay, pri'at, everything's gonna be alright."

The private looked up at the Heavy Trooper, who continued speaking.

"Just got off the horn, all remaining units are inbound, eta five mikes."

The Heavy turned its armored head towards the Bridge.

"All we gotta do is hold them off until then."

As of now it didn't matter if it was five minutes or five hours, they were all dead, thought Mayfield.

He glanced up again at the Heavy Trooper, who had pulled down his balaclava, this one bright yellow with a smiley face, revealing a dark complexion. SSG Charles 'Chuck' Connors took over the Heavy Support Trooper cadre after 1st Lt. Gordon bought the farm at the Water Coliseum. The normally jovial Atlanta native's face was furrowed into a uncharacteristic grim face. Even he didn't seem reassured by his own words. After everything they threw at Walker, nothing seemed to stop him. Maybe the rumors were true, that this Captain Walker was unkillable, or at least had a dozen lives like in video games. Now here they were, at the top of the overrun Command Post waiting for the inevitable.

Mayfield's thoughts were interrupted as one of the his fellow Zulu Squad soldiers barked into the radio.

 _"They're here! Open fire!"_

Connors slapped the visor down over his face and pulled the charging bolt back on his M249 SAW. The Heavy Trooper waded into the incoming fire, barking out commands.

"I'm goin' into the killzone, cover me!"

Mayfield took over, and blind fired his P90 at the two advancing enemy soldiers. He heard another Zulu go down, and saw a lucky headshot take down SPC Hawkins, who was manning the .50 cal. Finally a barrage of bullets struck his position, and a tried to take cover behind the sandbags. He heard Connors grunt,

"Taking hits!"

and then heard that crazy fuck Walker shout out

"Heavy Trooper is fucking down!"

Mayfield panicked, all order and discipline left him. All that was left was the animal instinct to survive. He dropped his weapon and made a desperate break for the sandbag wall that would lead him to the Bridge. Mayfield didn't feel the high explosive frag rounds hit his back, it just felt like someone kicking him in the spine, knocking the wind out of him. Time slowed down, and he struggled to breathe, feeling something wet and sticky foam out of his mouth and stain his skull balaclava. As he stumbled and fell to his knees the last thing he heard was the heavy gunner, Lt. Adams, say something.

"You hear that?"

As darkness took over Mayfield's vision, he heard the distinctive chopping noise of Bravo Five approaching, signalling the arrival of reinforcements. At least the reinforcements would take out Walker. Or not, it didn't matter.

Mayfield saw a bright flash of white light, for a second it blinded him. Then he heard a voice. A soft, feminine, melodious voice that seemed to sooth the fibers of his very being.

 _ **"Private First Class Ken Mayfield...You are a loyal soldier who followed your orders, even if it meant killing your comrades and friends..."**_

He looked around, and thought, in the bright light, that he saw a figure coalescing. As his eyes adjusted, he saw that the figure had in fact taken the form of a female. Specifically a tall, beautiful, slender and graceful young woman approached him. She wore a sparkling gown that was lavender hemmed in gold that seemed to float about her, she had long tresses the hue of emerald green that were teased by an unseen wind. Her large, beautiful eyes, the exact same hue as her hair, regarded him with a mixture of compassion and pity.

 ** _"...but within your heart still beats that of a true hero..."_**

Mayfield found himself ogling the beautiful lady, whose figure was all but on display thanks to her gossamer-thin raiment, but he finally snapped out of it and spoke.

"You...you want me to be a hero? After all I've done?"

She let out a musical giggle, one that piqued Mayfield to his core. He felt that if he could bottle that giggle and sell it he would become the richest drug dealer in the US. He wondered to himself what place would need someone like him as a hero.

She seemed to read his thoughts.

 _ **"There is a place, a place where you can do good, and become heroes. It is there where I will send you. And fear not, for you will not be alone in your quest for redemption**_ _ **..."**_

Before the private could react, the beautiful enigmatic Lady reached out with a slender finger and touched the tip of his assault vest.

* * *

Then he was jolted awake by the sound of loud music.

 _"Back in Black_  
 _I hit the sack_  
 _I've been too long I'm glad to be back..."_

Mayfield opened his eyes more bright light, and for a moment he thought he was back with the Beautiful Lady, but then his eyes and hearing adjusted and he realized he was in the back of a HUMVEE, listening to the strains of AC/DC's blaring from the radio. He rubbed is eyes and stretched his stiff muscles, looking about.

It was early dusk, as the sky still was pink from the sun had not fully touched the horizon, and Mayfield could see that he was still in the desert. The brightness came from the last rays of sunlight reflecting off the sand, he glanced down and Mayfield saw that he was wearing regular ACU's. He peered through the window and saw another HUMVEE parked in front. There was a cluster of palm trees next to the lead HUMVEE. Apparently they had stopped by an oasis. He could see Lt. Bradley pouring over a map spread out on the lead HUMVEE's hood, and in deep discussion with SSG Connors.

He then noticed tanned face made up almost entirely of glowing teeth grinning at him. SGT Torrez had turned around in the front passenger seat and beamed at the private.

"Good morning sleepyhead! And how are we this fine morning, pri'at?"

Mayfield didn't respond, except to stare at Torrez. He was a gunner in Bravo Two, one of the many AH-6J 'Little Bird' choppers that had pursued Walker through the ruins of downtown Dubai after the Delta captain had hijacked one of the 33rd's Black Hawk's. He had seen Torrez's 'bird, callsign Bravo Three, crash into a crane after taking heavy minigun fire from Walker. And yet, here he was, grinning at the private with his usual carefree humor. The sergeant's grin faltered slightly as he noticed the look on Mayfield's face.

"Everything alright, sleeping beauty?"

Mayfield, pushed the thoughts out of his head. It must have just been a dream, he thought. He finally responded by stretching and pretending to yawn.

"Nothing, except my skull crushing headache being exacerbated by that loud ass music you're blaring, sarge."

"What does that mean?"

"It means turn that shit down, I've got a fucking headache!"

"No, I mean what does exacerbate mean?"

Mayfield was about to respond, but saw Torrez's shit-eating grin and chuckled.

"Fuck you, sarge!"

Mayfield watched as the sergeant opened the door to the HUMVEE and exited. Now alone, the memories came back, and the private tried to remember what they were doing here in the middle of the desert. Suddenly it all came back to Mayfield. He remembered. They had been driving in this desert for at least two days and two nights, the last of the surviving Exiles who fled after the botched Mutiny. But last night, just like the previous night he kept dreaming the same dream, that he had sided with the 'Damned', soldiers loyal to Konrad, instead of LTC Long. He remembered staying in Dubai instead of fleeing, and how after the beacon had been set up, the 33rd was then being slowly but surely decimated by a mysterious CIA-backed Delta Force team. He wondered if Torrez or Davis had the same nightmares of Dubai. His thoughts were interrupted as the driver's door opened, revealing SSG Connors, along with PVT Davis, the squad's medic. The staff sergeant had several jugs full of water, and handed one to Mayfield.

"Everything alright, Pri'at?"

Mayfield accepted the water.

"Yeah, just the same dreams."

A haunted look crossed the normally jovial sergeant's features, but it quickly left. He handed another jug to the squad's medic, PVT Davis.

"Here you go, private, fill up your Camelbak, but don't be gulping it down, we don't know when we'll find more water."

Davis accepted a bottle as well.

"Hey, at least we were lucky enough to find two sources of water in the desert, right?"

"Yeah, I s'pose."

He gestured with a gloved thumb towards the lead HUMVEE.

"C'mon, the loot wants to debrief us on the sitch."

Mayfield refilled his Camelbak, then exited the vehicle and followed Connors and Davis. Lt. Bradley was still standing at the front of the lead HUMVEE, conversing with SGT. Torrez. He turned his attention to the new arrivals.

"Gentlemen, good morning. I trust you've all be issued the new water rations?"

He got a muted chorus of "Roger that, sir", then the young officer glanced down at the map spread out on the hood.

"Well, I'm not going to sugarcoat it, gents. I can't find any landmarks that correspond to this map."

Torrez spoke up.

"So, we're lost, sir?"

Connors shook his head as he traced an imaginary line on the laminated map.

"Something's screwy, because we followed the coast on a southwest heading the first day, then yesterday we went on a northwest heading following the coast until it ran out."

He looked up at Lt. Bradley.

"Based off the distance we've covered and according to this map we should be reached Qatar by now."

Torrez grinned as he took a sip of water.

"Well, yeah, but Lt. Bradley's at the map, so we're probably lost."

He grinned at Bradley.

"Hey el-tee, I heard you got lost for three hours on your Land NAV course, is it true, sir?"

Bradley shook his head, though grinning.

"Fuck you, Torrez."

He then looked down at the map.

"Best thing to do is keep on the Northwest heading, eventually we'll either hit Kuwait, or Iraq."

He looked over to Davis.

"Davis, I want you to maintain the radio. Every top of the hour I want you to broadcast on a wide frequency, see if we can't make contact with someone."

Bradley looked over his men.

"At this point, I'll even settle for a Bedouin camel-herder with a sat-phone."

He looked up at Connors.

"Sar'ent, move out. You take lead, and follow the same co-ordinates?"

Connors grinned.

"Roger that..."

Bradley took the map and folded it up, putting it in open of his BDU pockets. He watched as Connors opened the the driver's door and start up the lead HUMVEE. The lieutenant followed Mayfield and Torrez back to their HUMVEE. As he opened the driver's door Lt. Bradley pondered LTC Long's last orders to the fleeing Exiles. His orders were simple. Survive, and tell the world what happened.

After breaching the storm wall the Exiles' goal was to make radio contact with someone, anyone, and in lieu of that make their way to Quatar, to Al Udeid Air Force Base. From there they could make contact with the US Army CENTCOM and tell them what happened in Dubai. Assuming any of them got out of this desert alive.

Pushing aside dark thoughts Bradley started the HUMVEE. The Army truck rumbled to life, spouting out gouts of diesel smoke from its stacks before settling into a smooth idle. Before he put it into gear, he squinted at the square instrument cluster just below the steering wheel. He tapped the lower right gauge with his gloved hand.

"We ought to check the gas tank manually, it looks like the gas gauge is fucked."

Torrez, still in the passenger seat, finished adding water to his Camelbak and took a swig from the rest.

"Why do you say that, sir?"

Bradley looked up.

"Because we've been driving for at least 200 kilometers and our gas gauge hasn't budged."

Torrez shrugged.

"Connors said the same thing about his Humvee. Sand must've gotten into the works."

Bradley put the HUMVEE into gear and slowly the truck lurched forward in the sand, following Connors' HUMVEE.

"Well, either way we should check the levels manually."

The small convoy made its way through the desert, and before long the sun had disappeared, plunging their surroundings into pitch-darkness. Their HUMVEE's quad high-beams barely were able to pierce the gloom. After a while the lead HUMVEE ground to a stop, and Bradley followed suit. He turned to Mayfield, who was riding shotgun.

"Get Connors on the horn and find out why we stopped."

Mayfield was about to reply when radio crackled to life and Connors' voice came through the static.

 _"Ah, Loot-"_

Bradley grabbed the handset and interrupted.

"OpSec, sarge."

There was a pause, then Connors continued.

 _"Ah, Roger that Misfit One Actual, this is Misfit Two. Be advised I have eyes on...well, something at two o'clock, about five clicks out."_

Bradley pulled out his binoculars and stared out into the darkness. A flash of light caught his eye, and he could see..something, it looked like a large statue in the form of the head of predatory cat. A miniature sandstorm was whipping around it complete with flashes of lightening. The lieutenant swore he saw the statue move, the lightening produced a sort of strobe effect, causing the illusion of movement. He could also make out figures in the sand.

Looks like something out of Arabian Nights, Bradley thought to himself. His thoughts were interrupted when Connors' voice spoke up again.

 _"Ah, Misfit One Actual do you have a visual?"_

Bradley stared at the apparition through his binocs, and finally keyed the mic to respond.

"Roger that, Misfit Two...new orders. Alter course and make a heading towards that disturbance."

He heard a _squawk!_ on the radio and saw the lead HUMVEE turn. As Bradley turned the wheel to follow, he heard Torrez speak up in the back.

"Sir, is this a good idea? What if it's one of those desert mirage thingies?"

The lieutenant stared out through the armored windscreen, the disturbance was visible now even to the naked eye. He finally responded.

"Torrez, it's the first sign of life we've seen in this godforsaken desert. You have to admit that it's weird that we haven't seen a single soul out in this desert for the last two days, until now..."

Bradley shook his head.

"I sure hope we're not getting into another shit-show like Dubai..."

* * *

 **(Location: ? 14:05 hours local time)**

When Captain Pilton stepped through the door, he became immediately disoriented, overcome with a sense of vertigo. Only his training and willpower kept him conscious, but then just as quickly as it started, it stopped. Pilton opened his eyes, and was assaulted by bright sunlight. His eyes so accustomed to the darkness, Pilton pulled out a set of tinted Eyepro and donned them.

Scanning his surroundings the captain saw he was in the clearing of a wooded area. Off to his left was a majestic forest teeming with greenery and tall trees, to his right was a sunny meadow with bright flowers and wildlife. But, as usual, the commander of Kilo Company didn't seem impressed.

"Well, I'm not sure where 'here' is, but I could hazard a guess. The sun is shining, the birds are twittering, and I'm pretty sure that around here are a couple of cute bunny rabbits with big blue eyes screwing in their burrow."

He made a face as if sucking on a lemon.

"If you ask me, it's a disgusting tastes like diabeetus crapsaccharine world..."

Pilton turned and saw several small animals, including a faun, a small rabbit, and a skunk. They were staring at him with very intelligent eyes, and seemed completely unafraid. The 'Damned' officer frowned, unholstered his Glock-17 and fired a few rounds in the air. The effect was immediate, the animals scattered and scurried away. He glanced towards the audience.

"What? No, I'm not gonna shoot them, I'm not a devil, after all. Besides, for the sake of all you city-slickers out there, any time you run across a wild animal that has no fear of humans, chances are they have rabies, or worse."

He holstered his weapon and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, packing them with the heel of his palm.

"I'm not gonna take any chances, either way."

The captain put a cigarette on his lips, then lit it with a battered Zippo. It had the 33rd logo on it, a fanged skull with the Roman numerals for '33' and the battalion's motto. On the other side was a sizeable dent, although it didn't affect the functionality of the lighter. Pilton was regarding the Zippo, then looked up at the audience.

"' _Numquam Damnati Quiescent_ ,' that was the 33rd's battalion motto. It means 'They Shall Never be Damned'."

He chuckled as he pocketed the lighter.

"Ironic, given the circumstances."

Pilton stepped through some tall undergrowth, past a small tree where a squirrel was staring at Pilton curiously. Like the other animals before, the squirrel seemed curious more than anything. The commander of Kilo Company frowned at the little animal, then turned to the audience.

"I know you kids think squirrels are cute in the cartoons, but if you come from a rural area like Gaffney, South Carolina, we regard `em as disease-carrying pests. Tree Rats, we called `em. And lemme tell you, they taste nasty."

He took a deep drag from his cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke at the squirrel, who coughed violently and scampered off. Nodding in satisfaction, Pilton continued across the meadow, addressing the audience as he walked.

"Oh, I guess a round of introductions are in order..."

Suddenly, out of the blue a group of soldiers appeared. They were all wearing the same digital ACU's as Pilton, some wearing the black plate-carrier assault vests favored by the 33rd's infantry squads. Pilton gave the audience a smile.

"It's only fair to let you know who you'll be following in this little caper."

He walked up to the grim-looking soldier in ACU's. His black assault vest was teeming with spare mags for the M4 he had on a sling. Pilton spoke.

"You might remember him as the Interrogator, the fellow who was doing a number on Agent Gould when Walker showed up and spoiled the party. His real name is 1SG Randolf Dossler, and to say he's had a rough time in Dubai is an understatement. Got captured by the Insurgents in those bad days when the Mutiny was in its death throes, and well, you read the intel items, you heard it from the horses' mouth."

He addressed the soldier.

"What's your assessment of the sitch, Dossler?"

The Company 1st Sergeant shrugged and saluted.

"Don't know, don't care. Just awaiting orders, sir."

Pilton nodded and returned the salute, then addressed the audience.

"Like I said, man's cracked like a chestnut at Christmas, but he's also dead loyal and as you found out in following Walker's little tour of Dubai, willing to do what it takes to get the job done."

He walked up to a burly NCO with camo-facepaint covering his scarred face.

"This is Sergeant First Class Robert 'Bob' Barnes, aka 'Old Thunder.' He's called Old Thunder because he's the one of the senior ranking NCO's that's served in the Damned 33rd the longest. if Dossler is my Interrogator who's willing to just follow orders and not ask questions, then Barnes is my attack dog. Point him in the right direction, give him the command word and he bites without thinking. Amazing how easy he was to mold from a weak-willed Staff Sergeant into a hardened killing machine."

Pilton turned to the sergeant.

"Everything okay, Bob?"

Barnes let out a grunt.

"Five-by-five, sir."

The captain gave Barnes a friendly grin, which disappeared as soon as he turned away from the NCO.

"Unfortunately he's got the personality and I.Q. of a tree stump. Good thing his brutality and willingness to follow orders to the tee make up for that."

He then walked up to a 33rd soldier brandishing a sub-machine gun, wearing a balaclava and a boonie hat, and had a long sniper rifle slung on his back.

"This is Barnes' morality pet, Private First Class Drew Cooper. Nice kid, and a deadly shot with his Scout Tactical."

He turned to Cooper.

"Hey, Whooper Jr, show `em your war face..."

The soldier let his UMP-45 dangle on its sling and removed his hat and face covering, revealing a fresh-faced young man with olive skin and light green eyes. Then he turned to face Pilton, the other side of his face is a mess of ruined skin and angry scar tissue.

Pilton's face creased into something resembling sympathy.

"Poor bastard idolized Barnes, but he was caught up in that IED attack that killed Harvie. Turned his face into hamburger, so he wears that cover up."

A small smile played on Pilton's face.

"Incidentally his nickname 'Whopper Jr' has nothing to do with his face, believe it or not. It's because his first kill was some stupid kid in Afghanistan that decided to pick up an AK and go up against US Army soldiers. Baby Killer, BK, Burger King, Whooper Jr, get it?"

He turned to Cooper.

"Ready to roll?"

"Roger that, sir, but..."

Pilton paused.

"Something on your mind, Coop?"

"Sir, permission to speak freely!"

"No worries, you're cleared hot."

PFC Cooper finally blurted out.

"Sir, where are we? I'm pretty sure I saw myself die back in Dubai..."

He gave the young soldier a reassuring smile.

"Look, Coop, I know all this is really weird, but you're going to just have to trust me, alright?"

Cooper glanced over to Barnes, then pulled his balaclava and boonie hat back on. He saluted.

Roger that, sir!"

The captain returned the salute.

"Not to worry, Coop. All will be explained in due time."

Pilton turned away, and his smile wilted off his face.

"He's a nice kid, s'a shame what happened to him. But, as you just saw, he does occasionally get twinges of conscience so I need to have Barnes keep an eye on him."

He then walked up to a black soldier wearing Oakleys and a bandoleer of shotgun shells.

"This is Sergeant Barrigan, aka Big Mac, my real foil and confidant. Ex-Marine, and tough as a nail. And he's sharp as one, too. Unlike Barnes or Ross, who will follow orders without question, Barrigan's not afraid to call me out on my more...extreme orders. Good man to have around."

He addressed Barrigan.

"We good, Frank?"

"Roger that, Bill, but I second Coop's question. Where in the actual fuck are we?"

He grinned at Barrigan.

"C'mon, Frank, has ol' Wild Bill ever steered you wrong?"

The dark-skinned soldier returned Pilton's grin.

"You mean, aside from confronting Long at the airport outnumbered three to one just so you could hog all the glory? Nope, we good."

The grin faltered on Pilton's face for only a fraction of a second, but then both Pilton and Barrigan burst out into a genuine laugh.

"That's why I keep you around Frank. You keep me honest."

He turned to leave, with Barrigan still laughing. Pilton looked up at the audience.

"What? I wasn't kidding when I said I keep him close because he isn't afraid to speak the painful truth. Yeah, it was my call to confront Long solo, and yes, it was because I had a personal beef with him."

He stopped at a soldier with 2nt LT bar on his plate carrier staring intently at a laminated map and his compass.

"Moving right along, this is 2nd Lieutenant Shawn Perkins."

Pilton paused for a moment.

"There is a saying that the most dangerous thing in the world is a boot lieutenant with a radio and a compass."

He gestured to the young officer.

"Well, This mouth-breathing idiot fits all the stereotypes about butter bar loots to a tee. Self-important, know it all, and knows the FM inside and out, but when it comes going from tactical to practical, he's about as useless as tits on a boar-hog. His nickname is High Speed, and he doesn't even realize it's not a compliment."

He addressed Perkins.

"Everything good, Lieutenant?"

The lieutenant looked up from his map.

"Just trying to get our bearings, sir."

Pilton nodded and turned away, rolling his eyes in the process.

"Fuckhead's is trying to get his bearings, but he couldn't find his ass in a hall of mirrors at high noon, with both hands. Good thing he's like Barnes in one aspect, unquestioningly loyal and willing to follow my orders to the tee."

Next in line was a baby-faced soldier sporting a mohawk and wearing a red bandanna, a keffiyeh scarf and green body armor. The young soldier took no notice of Pilton, but instead was toying with his bayonet. Pilton gestured to the young soldier.

"And this is Specialist Scott Martzen, but he mostly goes by 'Bunny' on account of his preferred cartoon character tattooed on his forearm. Don't let his cherubic features and cute handle fool you, he's a stone cold killer."

Pilton nodded at the specialist.

"Everything golden, Bun?"

A savage grin spread across Martzen's face as he responded.

"Hell yeah! Just waiting for orders to kill, sir!"

Pilton again turned to the audience.

"He's a transfer from another battalion that saw a lot of action in Iraq. Some say that it was something happened there that broke him, others say he came into the Army broken. Either way, he's basically a loaded IED with a heartbeat. Oh, and if you see him pull out his bayonet? Stay the fuck out of his way."

Pilton continued further to a small improvised helipad in the meadow, where an AH6-J 'Little Bird' was parked. Unlike most 'Little Bird's used in the US military, this was had welded-on hillbilly armor on its airframe and it sported a black and red paint job, with an upside-down American flag stenciled on the fuselage. The chopper currently had its engine cover off and the pilot was up to his elbows in the open compartment, doing maintenance. Pilton continued.

"And the grease-monkey working on 'Freebird' from the 33rd's Air Wing is CW4 Cole Miller, although he likes to go by 'Goose', on account of him being a fan of Top Gun. He's my company adjunct. He took the Mutiny the hardest, but he's loyal."

He spoke up.

"How's Freebird holding up, Miller?"

The pilot turned and removed his aviator sunglasses, revealing a handsome face with blue eyes and premature silver-grey hair. Miller gave Pilton a salute.

"Freebird's doing fine, sir."

He looked around and squinted in the bright sunlight.

"But I'd sure like to know where 'here' is, sir."

Pilton nodded.

"Not to worry, as I said to Coop and Barrigan, all will be explained shortly."

He turned to the audience.

"Sorry, gotta debrief the men, if you'll excuse me..."

He turned to Dossler.

"First Sar'ant, assemble the men."

Dossler saluted.

"Yes, sir!"

Dossler then barked out in his best DS voice.

"Squad, Ten-Huit!"

All the soldiers stopped what they were doing and formed a line at the position of attention. Pilton smiled.

"At ease."

The 'Damned' all assumed the position of 'parade rest' as Pilton walked up and down the line. Then he put his hands on his hips and spoke.

"Men, I know you all have questions. All of you have experienced death in one form or another, some at the hands of Long and his traitorous mutineers, some at the hands of this mysterious Delta Force team led by Captain Walker."

He paused.

"Well, I don't have those answers for you as to why we were in Dubai and now we're here. But what I do know is that we've been given a second chance. But even if the venue has changed, the mission remains the same, to bring LTC Long to justice."

He saw several of the men make angry noises at the mention of Long's name, so he continue.

"I have it on good authority that Long and his mutineers are out there somewhere in this world and having a grand old time. Our mission is to apprehend Long and see to it that he faces justice for tearing the Damned 33rd apart. Are you with me on this?"

"Yes, sir!"

Pilton frowned.

"Bullshit, I can't hear you!"

"YES, SIR!"

He smiled.

"Good. Now, I know all of you are thinking the same thing..."

He gestured to Miller and his 'Little Bird'.

"It's gonna be a tight squeeze for all of us to fit in 'Freebird', but not to worry."

The captain jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

"-Because we have more transportation, as well."

His men looked, and as if appearing out of thin air there were three vehicles behind Pilton. Two HUMVEEs and a Stryker IFV. The HUMVEEs were not from Dubai, their desert tan paint jobs were brand-new, and upon closer inspection, had the livery of United Arab Emirates Army. The Stryker also looked like it just rolled off the assembly line, but had the more familiar US Army paint job. Pilton continued.

"We're dividing up among the ground transportation. Dossler, you're on point in the Stryker, make us a path, I'll follow in the lead HUMVEE..."

He turned to Martzen.

"Martzen, you follow up as rear guard and Miller, you're our eye in the sky. Make sure no dragons try to make us their lunch."

He heard the men snicker among themselves.

"All the original callsigns are in effect, maintain radio discipline at all times."

The men let out a collective 'Roger that', and filed away into the vehicles. The Stryker was the first to fire up, its massive wheels cut deep furrows into the soft grass as it moved out. As the two HUMVEE's followed suit, a high-pitched whine added to the cacophony as the 'Little Bird's APU spooled to life.

Inside the Stryker Dossler maneuvered the massive vehicle towards a thicket, he heard Miller's voice come through the static of his radio.

 _"Kilo One-One, this is Kilo One-Six, be advised it will take about ten minutes to get Freebird up in the air..."_

Dossler keyed his mic.

"Roger that, Kilo One-Six. Maintain radio contact..."

The Stryker smashed through the thicket, easily felling and pushing aside trees and limbs, while the animals that inhabited the forest fled for their very lives. One animal froze at the sight of the giant iron beast, the two headlights pinned the creature in place like a bug. At the last minute she tried to flee, but was hit by the Stryker's armored flank, and flung off to the side.

Dossler saw the deer in his path, then heard a loud _'Clunk!'_ from the impact. He smirked from behind the wheel.

"Think the Army's insurance covers deer hits?"

Barrigan, who was standing behind the driver's seat, shook his head, chuckling.

"Damn, Randy you fucked up man...You do know that was a mama deer, right?"

As the Stryker continued, a massive branch fell and pinned the dying doe to the ground, and its offspring tried licking its mother's dead, as if trying to revive it. The two HUMVEEs rumbled past, their inhabitants ignoring the young animal's plaintive cries.

* * *

 _(AN: Okaaaay, so put the rotten tomatoes down. Having the Damned callously kill Bambi's mom is kind of an establishing character moment, although in fairness it wasn't Pilton who ran her over, that was the Interrogator LOL._

 _The next couple of chapters are going to still be introducing characters, although if you caught the easter egg at the end of the 'Exiles' part, you probably know which Disney story the Exiles 'training mission' is going to be..._

 _As for appearances, on the 'Damned' side, obviously Barnes is based off of Tom Berenger's character in Platoon, although personality-wise he will be more nuanced than his counterpart in Platoon. Same with Martzen, aka 'Bunny' who's based off Kevin Dillon's character. Barrigan is visually based off Jaime Foxx's character Sykes from the movie Jarhead. On the 'Exiles' side, Mayfield I based his appearance off Ray Person in Generation Kill, Davis is based off 'Doc' Bryan from the same series, Torrez is based off the y*utube personality Combat Veteran. Hope this helps..._

 _Next chapters will be introducing more characters, namely LTC Long and PFC Gobbi. Those of you who are coming on board from the previous story, there will be some minor tweaks and alterations. As I said earlier it will take a few chapters for the story to get traction so I appreciate your patience. The next chapter should be up in a week or two, give or take.)_


	3. The Human Factor

_(AN: So, I got the next chapter Desert Storm almost complete, along with the chapter that introduces LTC Long, but then I realized that there was one player missing. This introduction grew big enough to warrant its own chapter, albeit it's shorter than normal. Also those who have come from Zulu Squad No Tsukaima might find this chapter familiar as it's essentially just introducing PFC Pete Gobbi. Fun fact, when I first envisioned this story back in mid to late 2014 I only had Pete Gobbi in the Disney-verse, and his companions were all Disney animals. Then, as I started stubbing out the story I realized he would need help, and his companions would need some sort of counter-part, which in turn turned the story into an 'Exiles' vs the 'Damned' story. Anyways, I have the next two chapters almost complete, so look for them mid to later this week. Enjoy!)_

* * *

PFC Gobbi's squad were out on patrol by the ruined sand-clogged freeway of Dubai when they were ambushed by the CIA-backed Insurgents. His squad leader went down, wounded by shrapnel from an RPG attack, and the rest of Gobbi's fellow soldiers took cover underneath a collapsed overpass clogged with wrecked luxury cars. Pinned down and taking casualties, the private crawled over to the squad RTO and radioed in for help.

"This is Bravo Patrol, we are under attack and taking heavy fire! Requesting immediate assistance, over!"

A long three minutes passed, then a clipped voice came in through the static.

 _"Bravo Patrol this is Zulu, what is your sitch?"_

Gobbi breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh thank Christ! The sitch is FUBAR, we are two clicks outside the wire from Sheikh Zayed Road, pinned down by unknown number of Insurgents. We're holding `em off, but are taking casualties and running low on ammo."

There was a pause, and another voice came on the radio.

 _"Roger that, Bravo Patrol. This is Iceman, be advised, Zulu Alpha is inbound, ETA five mikes. Sit tight and we'll get to you."_

Sure enough, after about five minutes Gobbi could hear the distinctive sound of helicopter blades cutting through the air and echoing off the abandoned high-rises. Then a Black Hawk helicopter emerged from behind the ruined monorail, and immediately the insurgents shifted their fire to the chopper.

Minigun tracer fire cut into the insurgents out in the open, and force the others to take cover. Then, when the chopper was close enough, figures in black uniforms rappelled down to the ground and took up defensive positions around Gobbi's unit. His rescuers were none other than Zulu Squad, the elite heavies of the Damned 33rd.

1SG Crosby, the leader of Zulu Squad, happened to be near the radio when Gobbi had been requesting aid, and personally led Zulu Alpha to relieve them. The two of them hit it off on the chopper ride back. For whatever reason, Crosby was a completely different person around Gobbi, even some members of Zulu Squad were shocked at how mellow their normally cold and reserved commander was when he was hanging out with the private.

One evening, when they were off-duty and spending time sipping their daily beer ration at the putting green, Crosby showed him a picture. It was a boy, about 16 with dark brown hair and light blue eyes. According to Crosby that was his son Jonathan. The way the sergeant spoke about his son, he was either dead or estranged, but Crosby told him that Gobbi reminded him of his son. And then he made Gobbi promise him that he would make it out of Dubai, to see his baby girl and wife again.

Pete Gobbi's reverie was cut short by someone dope-slapping the back of his head.

"Hey!"

He looked up and saw one of the Zulu Squad soldiers looking down at him, his grim face creased into a smile.

"Mission Control to Pete, snap out of it!"

The private looked around. Gobbi was with the rest of his squad, gearing up in a hotel suite that was his squad's barracks. The hotel was adjacent to the Aquatic Colosseum, and after the Gate it served as the 33rd's main headquarters. Gobbi grinned at Crosby.

"Aw shucks sarge you're no fun! I was having this great fantasy about my dream threesome with Carly Rae Jepsen and Miley Cyrus!"

1SG Crosby shook his head, laughing.

"Well, your happy-time sock will just have to wait until you get back from this mission. And remember what I said, be careful out there. Your squad's job is to lay down suppressing fire, and leave the breaching and heavy lifting to Zulu Squad."

"Roger that, sarge!"

 **(June 27th, 2012, Atlantis Hotel, Dubai. 14:35 hours local time)**

Gobbi finished gearing up, but he couldn't help feeling excited. Thanks to intel gathered by interrogating the captured CIA agent Gould, the 33rd had located Agent Riggs' headquarters in an abandoned mall off Al Dhiyafa Road. The new mission, titled appropriately Operation Cockroach, was to capture or kill Riggs and any remaining Insurgents, and hopefully stamping out the last of the insurgency and bringing stability back to Dubai. He looked over and saw some members of Zulu Squad gearing up as well.

The members of Zulu Squad were easily distinguished with their black and white uniforms and ice-cold demeanor. But 1SG Crosby stood out, mostly because his head was uncovered. The leader of Zulu Squad waved Gobbi over, so the private grabbed his helmet and M4 rifle and walked over.

"So, you guys are joining us on this mission too, Sarge?"

The Zulu Squad sergeant's stern face continued to grin.

"Well, command doesn't want to take any chances, what with those three maniacs running amok out there. Last thing we want is for them to link up with Riggs and make a mess of things."

Crosby reached into one of the pouches on his tactical vest.

"Oh, and one more thing…"

He pulled out a balaclava and gave it to the private. When Gobbi unfolded it, he saw that it had a skull stenciled on the front, just like what all the other members of Zulu Squad wore.

"Gee, thanks sarge!"

Crosby smiled.

"There's a chance we're going to run into another sandstorm out there, and the stylish skull is for good luck."

He made a bro-fist and pounded knuckles with the private.

"See you in the killzone!"

* * *

 **(Operation Cockroach: T+25 minutes into mission)**

Gobbi took cover behind some sandbags. Lt. Benson's chopper had inserted them in a small side street in front of Riggs' hideout. Sure enough, armed Insurgents had poured out and were firing on them. Crosby's cadre Zulu Alpha was making short work of them, and for a while it seemed like Gobbi's squad was going to only be in support.

"Man, we shoulda brought popcorn and beer, instead of ammo!"

The private couldn't remember what the name of the specialist was who spoke. Gobbi was about to respond when the specialist's head exploded in a shower of gore, his body toppled to the ground. Gobbi spun around, and saw three men firing on his squad from above. He heard Crosby's voice on the radio.

 _"Shit! It's those Delta fucks! Martinez, Pineada, move in to flank!"_

This could complicate shit, Gobbi thought to himself. He saw the three members of Delta Squad rappel down into the square close to the entrance. One of them, the dark-skinned soldier with an M249 SAW, leaped behind some sandbags and fired from cover. Two more of Gobbi's squad-mates were cut down by the incoming hail of bullets. Over the din of the gunfire, a voice could be heard booming from the various loudspeakers placed throughout the city.

" _Where's all the violence coming from? Is it the videogames? I bet it's the videogames._ "

Gobbi grinned, in spite of the morbid situation. The Radioman had a unique sense of humor. He heard Crosby's voice through the static of his radio.

 _"That Darden is such a prick. I don't know what the colonel saw in him."_

The private grinned.

"Oh come on sarge, he ain't that bad. You just gotta get to know him."

 _"Fat chance. I'll follow orders and protect him, but that doesn't mean I have to like him."_

Gobbi looked up and saw the Delta commander take cover behind a HUMVEE.

"I've got a bead on their leader, I'm taking the shot!"

There was an edge of emotion in Crosby's voice on the radio.

 _"Wait! Pete, don't! Private Gobbi that Walker is a dangerous customer you stay in cover and we'll out flank him. That's an order, stop!"_

But the private had already left cover and was firing off a burst at Walker's position. Suddenly he heard the Delta leader say the dreaded words.

"Sticky grenade away!"

Gobbi already turned to run back to cover, but he felt something hit his back. He panicked, trying to reach behind himself.

"Get it off me! For Christ's sake get it off me before it goes!"

He didn't hear Sgt. Crosby cry out a loud "No!", Gobbi didn't even feel pain, like he was afraid he would. One moment he was on the ground panicking, the next he found himself in a white light. He looked down and saw he still had his kit, and still had his weapon. He looked back up and saw a tall, lithe figure in the light.

It was a she, and she had long, flowing green hair and eyes that matched. Her garment was made of some glittery translucent material like muslin or silk. It was a light purple edged in finely woven gold, and an unseen wind tousled the skirt to reveal a slender bare leg. He caught himself staring and looked back up to her face. She was beautiful, and she also appeared to be amused at his ogling.

 ** _"Private Peter Gobbi, the noble soul who just wanted to help, to be the hero. But Fate had other plans, and would have left you dying alone and buried in some sand-ridden hell."_**

Gobbi awkwardly removed his helmet.

"A pleasure to meet you, ma'am. And I apologize for admiring the scenery, it's just that it's been so long since I've been seen such a pretty, ah, well you know."

The lady put a delicate hand to her mouth and giggled.

 ** _"I can see why he counts you as such a close friend, Peter Gobbi. To answer the question you were about to ask I am the Weaver of Fate, I pluck threads about to be cut from tapestries and weave them into other tapestries where they can alter the pattern for the better."_**

Something she said clicked in Gobbi's mind.

"Wait, you mean you know the sarge? When did he buy it?"

She nodded.

 ** _"I do know your friend Robert Crosby, I had woven a new pattern in a new tapestry for him and am guiding him on his journey to redemption. In my realm there is no past or future, there is only the here and now."_**

"How can you do that?"

She smiled.

 ** _"Magic. In the Celestial Empyrean which is my domain I can weave any pattern in any number of tapestries. So I ask you, what is your heart's desire, Pete Gobbi?"_**

He scratched his head.

"Well, I'd really like to go wherever ol' sarge Crosby went."

The Weaver of Fate seemed think it over, and then slowly shook her head.

 ** _"Regretfully that Tapestry already has a hero, but there is another tapestry, a place where your warrior's heart can achieve great things, a place where you can defeat a great evil and become the hero. If you accomplish this, I will give you what you wish for."_**

Gobbi stood at attention and saluted the lady.

"You can count on me! Private First Class Pete Gobbi, awaiting orders ma'am!"

The lady smiled again, and slowly approached him. When she was very close to him Gobbi started to get nervous. He was sweating, which was an odd thing given where he was, and when her face was inches away from hers he closed his eyes. He felt soft lips on his own and heard her voice speak.

 ** _"Welcome to your new adventure, Pete Gobbi, and your quest to become the Hero!"_**

* * *

Gobbi's eyes opened with a start, and then shut them again. The sunlight was too bright. He sat up and opened his eyes again, this time shading them. He was in a forest of some sort, so wherever this was it certainly wasn't Dubai. He looked down and saw that he still had his kit and his M4 rifle in a sling. He looked around and let out a low whistle. Everything about the forest was so vivid that it almost didn't seem real, like it was some elaborate painting. He heard birds chirping and looked up. He hadn't seen birds since he was deployed, and nothing but crows survived the sandstorm in Dubai. He noticed other critters were scampering about, including a squirrel. He smiled to himself at the recollection of his cousin who hunted and barbequed squirrels back home.

Something seemed odd about the animals in the forest. For one thing, they were very expressive. He swore that one of the squirrels was staring at him like it was frightened of him. Then without warning a covey of birds swooped down and started pecking at him. He tried to swat them off, they weren't much of a threat since he still had his helmet, goggles and balaclava on, but he still backed off. He was too distracted by the birds to notice the overgrown tree root sticking out of the ground behind him. Or the cliff behind it. He tripped over the stump and fell head over heads down the steep hill, hitting branches that slowed his fall, until he hit something and fell through it. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noticed that what he fell through was a thatched roof. And he was sitting in some sort of easy chair. A voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Ah, there you are my boy, you made it."

* * *

 **(5 minutes earlier, same location)**

"…One big medieval mess, bah!"

The old wizard finished his rant by slamming the door to his cottage. As he poured the fresh water into the kettle, he calmed down.

"Now then, let's see…"

He pulled out a pocket watch.

"He should be here in, oh I'd say about five minutes."

"Who?"

A brown tufted owl hooted at the wizard poked its head out of a small house. The old wizard finished setting the extra teacup and saucer on the table and adjusted the guest chair while looking up at the ceiling.

"I told you, Archimedes, I'm not sure. All I know is that someone will be coming, someone very important."

As he adjusted the table he continued, as if he were conversing with his owl.

"Fate has weaved a new pattern for this person in Her Tapestry, and will direct him to me, and I in turn shall guide him to his rightful place in this world."

Satisfied, he went back to his own chair and lit his pipe. The owl had a look of disbelief on its face.

"Oh, come on Archimedes, you'll see. He'll be ah…a boy, a lad of about twenty…"

As he spoke the large cloud of smoke shifted, and coalesced into a scene of battle, where strange men were wearing woven armor wielding pikes that spat fire.

"…He'll come from a distant far off land, a land of sand and strife…"

As the wizard spoke a large man in black and white armor walked past.

"Oh, no, no, no, that can't be the boy, surely not! That chap looks to be in his thirties at least."

The image shifted over to a younger man wearing a black armored vest and clothes the color of moss. The wizard chuckled.

"Ah, there he is, the gangly young lad of about twenty."

The young man in the odd clothes stood up and fire issued from the pike he was holding (a rifle, the wizard corrected himself), and sudden there was a bright flash. As if on cue there was a loud crash and someone came tumbling through the ceiling and right into the guest chair. It was the very lad he was talking about.

"Ah, there you are, my boy. You've made it!"

Private Gobbi pulled down his balaclava and stared. He couldn't believe it. Sitting in an easy chair across the table from him was the owner of the cottage whose roof he just fell through. An old man with a long white beard and a blue conical hat, he looked very familiar. The old man pulled out a pocket watch and glanced at it again.

"Oh dear, you're a bit late, you know."

"Say what, sir?"

The old man pointed to his watch.

"You're about a minute late, not that it matters."

Gobbi disentangled his M4 from its sling and leaned it against the chair.

"Well, I apologize for being late; I was attacked by some testy forest critters."

The old man shook his head.

"Oh, I wouldn't take it personally, young man. The creatures of the forest were just scared of you. Your face coverings don't exactly make a good impression in these parts."

Gobbi realized he was still wearing his skull balaclava and pulled it off. He looked around.

"Speaking of which, sir, where's here?"

The old man stood up.

"Oh dear me, where are my manners? My name is Merlin and you are?"

Gobbi was in shock by the old man's admission, which the old man took for hesitation.

"Come, come, my lad, don't be shy. Who are you, my lad?"

"Private First Class Pete Gobbi, sir."

The private belted out his name and rank mechanically as he was still trying to process what he just heard. The old man chuckled again.

"My, my, that's quite a mouthful there. Do you go by Peter or Pete?"

"Um, Pete's fine, sir. Only my mom and Mrs. Tingle in the 4th grade called me Peter."

Gobbi looked around the room and saw an brown owl.

"Huh, you got a stuffed owl? My cousin did taxidermy too."

The owl sprang to life, but that alone wasn't what shocked the private.

"Humph! Stuffed? Why, the very idea!"

The owl spoke! Gobbi shook his head.

"Kerrist on a Kawasaki! A talking owl? That's nuts!"

The old man, Merlin glanced up.

"Oh, don't be too hard on Archimedes, he's just a little grouchy this morning. Always gets that way when he's been out all night hunting."

Gobbi continued to stare at the little house where the owl had retreated to in a huff.

"Um, sir?"

"I told you lad, it's Merlin, there's no need to be so formal."

"Huh? Oh, right, um, Merlin, can I ask a wild ass question?"

"By all means, young man, ask away."

"And don't take this the wrong way, but are you some kinda magic wielder type? Y'know, abracadabra, rabbit out of the hat, Dumbledore stuff?"

Merlin chuckled.

"Oh, yes I did read those books, delightful fluffy stuff. Got the magic all wrong, but then again what do you expect from muggles?"

He cleared his throat and straightened up.

"You are quite correct, my lad. I am a wizard, a soothsayer! A prognosticator! I have the power to see into the future! Centuries into the future!"

He glanced down at Gobbi's rifle and kit.

"I've even been there, lad. Let's see, based off your clothing I would say you're from the early 21st century military…hmmm..United States Army, and…judging from the insignia...the ill-fated 33rd Mobile Infantry Battalion? Also known colloquially and somewhat ironically as the 'Damned 33rd?"

Gobbi nodded.

"Nailed it, sir. So you mean you can see everything before it happens?"

The wizard nodded.

"Yes, everything!"

A third voice spoke up, and the owl poked its head out of its house.

"Uh-uh-uh-uh! 'Everything,' Merlin?"

Merlin appeared flustered.

"Uh, uh... No, no, not 'everything'."

He shrugged.

"I, uh, I admit I didn't know whom to expect for tea, but as you can see.."

He pointed his staff to the hole in the roof where Gobbi fell through."

"I figured the exact place!"

He looked back to the private, who was staring at him.

"Erm, listen young man, I understand this must be a whole lot for you to take in."

Gobbi shook his head.

"Sir, with all due respect, if a week ago someone told me that I'd be in a weird world of medieval magic, with a wizard sporting a beard that would make Billy Gibbons envious, and a talking owl, I'd have called bullshit."

He shrugged.

"But here recently a few things have happened that have broadened my horizons, so to speak."

The wizard smiled conspiratorially.

"Ah, you are of course referring to the Weaver of Fate?"

Gobbi looked surprised.

"you know her?"

"Well, not precisely. We've cross paths on a few occasions. Delightful lady and very knowledgeable. I take it she told you why She sent you here?"

"Yup, she said she was sending me to a place where I could be the hero."

Merlin smiled.

"Ah, yes, that you will, my boy."

"So what exactly does that entail, sir?"

"Oh just the usual things; lots of adventures, travel to exotic lands, save a princess or two, and eventually slay the dragon. All standard hero's tale stuff."

The wizard sat down and poured some tea.

"But first we must have a bite to eat and some tea. No adventure should begin on an empty stomach."

Gobbi glanced down at cup and saucer placed before him.

"Ah, no offense Merlin sir, but tea really isn't my thing. Unless it's iced and chock full of sugar."

The wizard looked aghast.

"Cold tea? Dear me, how dreadful! Well...come to think of it...yes, yes now that you mention it that was a thing in the 20th century, especially in the southern parts of the United States."

He pulled out his wand.

"Well, I'm afraid I can't make you iced tea, it goes against my principles as an Englishman, you understand..."

Merlin waved his wand, and Gobbi's teacup disappeared in a puff of smoke, replaced by a pint glass full of amber-colored lager.

"...but I trust a pint would suit you better?"

The private grinned as he took the pint.

"Thanks sir!"

Gobbi put the glass to his lips and drained the pint, to him it was the most delicious beer he had ever had. He set the glass down then wiped some of the foam from his lips. The private looked sheepishly at Merlin.

"Sorry sir, but I was a bit thirsty..."

Merlin merely chuckled.

"Aha, no worries my boy. You just came from a desert place, it's no wonder you're thirsty."

Gobbi was about to ask if he could get a refill, but as if on cue, his pint glass magically refilled itself.

"Damn! That's some hot shit magic right there, sir!"

The wizard continued to chuckle.

"I told you my boy, it's Merlin, and you're most welcome-"

Then Merlin paused, and seemed to be distracted, if only for a moment. Then the wizard's eyes refocused, and he turned to Gobbi.

"Oh dear me...er boy, that is to say, Pete, I'm afraid we're going to have to cut happy hour short."

Gobbi sensed trouble, and set down his pint glass.

"Shit's about to go south?"

"Erm, yes but not here. You see, there are others, fellow soldiers from your same unit, the 33rd. They are in a far off country and are in need of help."

Merlin stood up, and Gobbi followed suit, grabbing his M4.

"Now then, Pete, unfortunately you can't fly out of London, because the next flight out of Heathrow isn't until..."

He pulled out his pocket watch.

"...800 years from now, and in any case they won't let you take your weapons on board the plane, so we're going to use magic."

The wizard raised his wand, then paused.

"Ah, Archimedes?"

The owl poked his head out of his small house.

"Erm, what was that traveling spell again?"

Archimedes cleared his throat.

"Ah... _'volantem, volantes, volantes nunc'_ , I think..."

Merlin nodded.

"Excellent!"

He pointed the wand at the private.

"Ahem, Volantem, volantes, volantes, Nunc!"

And with that, PFC Pete Gobbi disappeared in a puff of smoke. The owl glanced over to Merlin.

"Shouldn't you have given the private a mission debriefing first before sending him to Agabrah?"

Merlin shrugged.

"Oh, he'll figure it out, these 21st century soldiers are all about adapting and overcoming..."

* * *

 _(AN: So, there you have it. One more soldier being sent into the Disney-Verse. Also, I am trying to keep things fairly realistic in terms of how soldiers (especially ones that have been stuck in Dubai for 6 months) will react to being in a magical world. Hopefully it will work out. Adding the private does beg the question whose side will Gobbi choose to be on, since according to the Intel Items in the game he is an idealist, but theoretically he was also one of the 'Damned' who sided with Konrad. But, fortunately you dear readers will find out very soon, as the next chapter should be up in the next couple of days. Until then, don't touch that dial!)_


	4. We Were Soldiers

_(AN: So, no sh*t, I had the follow up to Gobbi and the Exiles' next chapter almost done...aaaand my computer crashed and I lost 4,000+ words. There was much cursing and my Chromebook didn't survive the experience. Fortunately I had a backup Chromebook (Christmas present) and still writing. This chapter introduces LTC Long, and it's shorter like the previous one, but at least it's something until I get the next chapter done. I'd like to have it done by the weekend/early next week, but it depends on how much I remember writing and how much I can dredge up from my hand-written notes._

 _So, instead, I am posting this chapter which introduces LTC Long, the leader of the 'Exiles'. I must point out that he won't be in the story just yet, he will be introduced to the rest of his men after their 'training mission'. Also, visually speaking I am basing Long off of LTC Devoe in the 1997 movie 'The Peacemaker'. So yeah, LTC Long's a younger George Clooney, but without the attitude that the actor himself has._

 _Speaking of 'training mission' I think it only right to point out that every Disney story that the 'Exiles' and the 'Damned' are going to be flung into, is going to Deconstruct the whole concept of the fairy tale, except the ones that are themselves Deconstructions, in which case they will deconstruct the deconstruction of the...You know, it's 3am and I shouldn't be writing this late at night...Oh yes, and in each story there will be a key element missing, which will require either the 'Damned' or the 'Exiles' presence._

 _As I said I hope to have the next chapter, working title 'A Man of Action' up by the end of the week or 1st part of next week, so please be patient._

 _In the meantime, enjoy!)_

* * *

 ** _Bio Profile: Lieutenant Colonel Long_**

 ** _Faction: The Exiles_**

Lieutenant Colonel David Long hailed from a small town in the Midwest, and grew up in a close-knit farming community. His father, a third-generation Nebraska farmer, had taught his son the value of saying what you mean and meaning what you say. He also taught young David the importance of standing up for what you believe is right. David Long took those words to heart, excelling in school, graduating at the top of his class in high school. His academic and athletic achievements earned him entrance into the prestigious West Point military academy, where he continued to impress both teachers and his fellow students alike.

He graduated from West Point in June of 1990, and commissioned as just in time to see service in the 1st Gulf War, as a 2nd lieutenant in charge of 3rd Platoon within the 504th Regiment, in the legendary 82nd Airborne. Although his unit never saw any action Long still managed to distinguish himself. Intelligent, outgoing, and unafraid to speak his mind, Long took his father's words to heart. It earned him the ire of some of his more uptight superiors but also the respect and admiration of his subordinate officers and enlisted personnel. Long believed that respect was a mutual thing, something that was earned, not demanded. He was always looking out for his 'boys', as he called his subordinates.

After Gulf War One Long served in an advisory position to then Col. John Batiste during Operation Joint Endeavor in Kosovo, where he earned several commendations from his superiors. After 9/11 Long requested and received a transfer from a cushy 'REMF' position to a command position within the 506th Infantry Regiment. As a captain During Operation Enduring Freedom and Operation Iraqi Freedom he commanded Hotel Company in the 2nd Battalion. His company was one of the most combat effective units, and more importantly, thanks to his leadership, suffered the least casualties of any other company.

In May of 2004 he was promoted to major and transferred to the 33rd Mobile Infantry Battalion in March of 2005, at the request of then LTC John Konrad. Long and Konrad bonded, and shortly after the fateful IED incident that took Col. Harvie's life Konrad was promoted to colonel and assumed command of the 33rd. He in turn promoted Long to 'Light Colonel' and appointed him as battalion XO. As the 33rd's executive officer, Lt. Col. Long proved to be both popular and effective; a combination of traits rare for a man is his position. Long and his CO continued to bond as well, they often visited the colonel's Montana ranch when on leave, and Konrad named Long as his son's godfather. Just weeks before the 33rd's fateful last deployment to Afghanistan in late 2011, Long enjoyed Thanksgiving dinner with Konrad and his wife and son.

In their last deployment to Afghanistan, Long and Konrad worked diligently to salvage the allied peacekeeping mission in the countryside surrounding Kabul, but the ISAF effort to maintain control was crumbling fast and everyone knew it. In the climactic Battle of Kabul, Konrad personally led elements of the 33rd to save a stranded Spec Ops unit, saving their lives, including the life of one Martin Walker. In the end, despite reinforcements from the British, the French, and the elite shock troopers of the Army's legendary "Viper Battalion," Kabul soon fell. Konrad, Long and the rest of the 33rd was evacuated at the end of December, 2011. Both Konrad and Long took the fall of Kabul very hard, as it was the 33rd's first conquest in Operation Enduring Freedom. It was during the layover in Qatar that word of the storms looming over Dubai reached Konrad, Long, and the men of the 33rd.

The 33rd was diverted to Dubai by accident, but Konrad believed that it was no coincidence that they ended up in the city just before the storms got worse. Konrad volunteered the 33rd to help evacuate civilians from the city when it became clear that the government of Dubai was doing nothing to help. Konrad sent word to the Pentagon, requesting assistance to help, or at least permission to help evacuate the civilians who had been abandoned. The Pentagon replied, ordering Konrad to evacuate any American citizens from Dubai, and then withdraw. Konrad defied that order, and Long, along with the rest of Konrad's command staff, stood with him.

In the first few weeks following Konrad's refusal of the Pentagon's order, Long supported Konrad unfailingly, but as the storms grew worse in Dubai and the 33rd struggled to keep order, he became increasingly uneasy with the 33rd's heavy-handed peacekeeping tactics. He had agreed defy the Pentagon and stay in Dubai, but seeing the reality Long became increasingly troubled as time went on and the situation continued to spiral out of control.

The failure of the Evacuation was a reality-check for Long. He became convinced (correctly, as it would turn out) that Dubai was a lost cause, and approached Konrad with a plan to evacuate the 33rd and as many civilians as possible using a couple of functional Emirates Airways 747's, but Konrad refused, intent on 'saving' Dubai from the storms. A few weeks went by and the two grew more and more distant as Konrad became increasingly delusional, lapping up the praise and gratitude from the surviving refugees, who worshiped him as a living god. The final straw was when Konrad ordered five men, men with families, to be publicly executed for attempting to steal water from the Aquatic Colosseum. Long again confronted Konrad, attempting to make his friend see reason, but Konrad refused, stating that if order is to be maintained an example would have to be made. It degenerated into an argument, and a shouting match which ended with Long storming off, intending to take matters into his own hands and do what he saw as the right thing.

Over the course of a few weeks Long began approaching individuals he trusted. Cynical, pragmatic Major Ken Tebby, the battalion Operations Officer, readily agreed to participate as did captains Wright, Foley, and Hammond, the commanders of the companies hardest hit by the failed evacuation. Captain Jeff Bowles, the battalion intelligence officer, also agreed to go along and so did the 33rd's JAG officer, Major John Pope. Major Barker, who feared that it would lead to violent confrontation, declined, and so did Sergeant Major Wolfe, who agreed with Long but was unwilling to abandon his men.

Several of the 33rd's pilots agreed to fly the men out of Dubai, and Long managed to convince Konrad to put the airstrip under the care of the under-strength Hotel Company, relieving Bill Pilton's Kilo Company. This had aroused the suspicion of Pilton, who had a poor relationship with Long to begin with. Suspecting that the battalion XO was planning something, Pilton tricked Sergeant Major Wolfe into revealing what he knew, and then blackmailed him into keeping quiet with threats to report him to Konrad. Pilton, with his ambition set on Long's position as XO, decided to take it upon himself to confront the 33rd's wayward second in command.

Long waited for a clear forecast before leading his renegade force, which Ken Tebby dubbed the 'Exiles', to the airfield. With him on that fateful day were Ken Tebby, Jeff Bowles, JAG officer John Pope, Captains Wright, Hammond, and Foley with their entire companies, Lieutenant Aaron Walsh and half of the 33rd's recon platoon, parts of India and Juliet companies, a few tankers and aviators, and virtually all of the 33rd's headquarters staff. Departing in the dead of night, nobody noticed their absence. Nobody, that is, except Bill Pilton.

Pilton arrived at the airfield in the dead of night with Kilo Company in tow. Pilton called on the commander of Hotel Company, Captain George Glynn, and sent him and his company to deal with an imaginary riot. Long arrived at dawn to find Pilton and his men surrounding the hanger. Leaving most of his force in the dunes, Long and his officers boldly confronted the arrogant captain on the tarmac. Pilton taunted the former XO, calling him a traitor and a coward, and threatened to personally kill him on the spot if he didn't turn around and go back.

After months of hell in Dubai and escape almost within his grasp, Long wasn't about to back down. He tried to reason with Pilton, and when that didn't work, threatened to shoot him. Finally, he pushed Pilton aside and walked toward the hanger. The doors opened to reveal the pilots Long had struck a deal with, bound and on their knees. The angered Lieutenant Colonel demanded that Pilton release them, but the cold-hearted officer executed the men on the spot, telling Long he wasn't going anywhere. Captain Hammond's radioman, specialist Tyson Brady, ran forward to confront the murderous officer, but Pilton raised his Glock and shot Brady in the head, killing him. It was the first shot of the Mutiny.

Long, horrified by the murder of his radioman, raised his M9 and shot Pilton dead. Long's men on the dunes made short work of the rest of Kilo Company, but when the smoke had cleared both 747's were destroyed and the pilots were dead, leaving the Exiles trapped in Dubai. Long carefully plotted his next move as his men cleared away the bodies of Pilton and his men.

None of the Exile officers were keen to fight their own men, but it was clear to everyone that there was no choice in the matter. In one last effort to avoid conflict, Long sent a message to Konrad, begging him to evacuate while they still could. The colonel's answer was never in question though, and so the Mutiny began.

Konrad woke up the next morning to find his second-in-command and hundreds of his men gone, with reports coming in indicating that Bill Pilton's company had been slaughtered at the airfield. At first the colonel refused to believe that his friend would turn on him, but soon had to face facts. Word spread among the 33rd of Pilton's demise and Long's apparent desertion, and individual dramas were played out as infighting broke out and plunged the battalion into chaos. Squads and platoons turned on each other, and Konrad struggled to maintain control, eventually resorting to draconian punishments like flogging and public executions to keep his battalion from disintegrating.

For six long months, the 'Exiles' loyal to Long fought men still loyal to Konrad, known as the 'Damned', for control of Dubai. Looting, death squads, and unspeakable atrocities were common on all sides as the 33rd tore itself apart. The 'Exiles' made initial gains, because they had the element of surprise, but when the 'Damned' regrouped and counter-attacked, the 'Exiles' were slowly pushed back. The outcome was never really in doubt though, and the inevitable assault on the 'Exile's base at the airfield came in in the first week of June.

The 'Damned' attacked in full force, supported by the air wing and the remaining tanks and Stryker IFV's. Long and his men fought back viciously, and the battle raged for the entire day and into the night, as the majority of the mutineers fought to the death rather than be captured. Some men escaped on foot or in vehicles, but most didn't make it very far. Long and his officers were all accounted for by dawn the next day. Captain Foley, JAG officer Pope, and Lieutenant Walsh had been killed outright. Jeff Bowles escaped on foot with two soldiers, but was tracked down by a squad of Heavy Troopers and captured after a brief firefight. Captain Tebby surrendered after running out of ammo, while Captain Wright was terribly wounded in the battle and captured. Hammond and Long attempted to flee in a HUMVEE with his driver and RTO, but were apprehended by 1SG Crosby and his cadre of Zulu Squad.

Taken to the gate, the five officers were kept under house arrest for a few days while Konrad decided what to do with them. It was announced seventy-two hours afterwards that the captured officers would be executed as a warning against any future insurrection. Konrad assembled all the 33rd's officers and many enlisted men in the main conference room of the Naeemah Center, also known as the Gate, and had the five officers tied to chairs on the stage. At the last minute, Dr. Stigman attempted to intercede, begging Konrad to spare the men, and when that didn't work, begging him to at least spare Bowles and Wright on account of their severe wounds. The colonel was resolute though, and decided to go through with the executions. Notably, several people were conspicuous in their absence. Sergeant Major Wolfe, Dr. Stigman, Lt. John McPherson PFC Peter Gobbi and SSG Josh Forbes were among those who refused to attend.

At a podium off to the side, with the men of the Damned 33rd gathered, Konrad gave a speech about duty and honor, and said an example had to be set. Perhaps he had a change of heart though, because he offered the mutineers a choice: either publicly renounce their actions and be stripped of their ranks, or die.

What happened next would haunt Konrad to the end of his days...

* * *

"Is Colonel John Konrad the greatest man I ever served with? Well, I don't know. I'd have said he was the best damned commander the 33rd ever had. There was the time back in that shit-show that was Kabul, when Col. Harvie was killed in an IED attack, an' Konrad stepped up and pulled our collective asses out of the meatgrinder. Nobody was left behind, not even Harvie's body. Hell, he personally chose me to be on his command staff. I've broken bread with him under his roof on Thanksgiving, his son Jeremy is my godson and calls me 'Uncle Dave.' So maybe I'm biased, but the facts don't lie. The man's a fuckin' hero.

"Remember when the storms first hit Dubai? You were probably all safe and sound back at home watching TV, while Konrad was leading the 'Damned 33rd' out of Afghanistan. Instead of coming home, he volunteered his entire battalion, all of us, to help to evacuate civilians. Bet all you did was send a check. The Pentagon ordered Konrad to abandon Dubai, to evacuate any American civilians still in the city and come home. He defied that order, and as part of his command staff we all stood with him. Nobody outside of Dubai knew what happened next, but the reality is, the storms got worse. Much, much worse. Six months ago, Konrad had organized a caravan of survivors to flee the sandstorms. It was the 33rd's most audacious mission to date, called the Evacuation. Over 6,000 civilians and all 1,500 members of the 33rd were to participate in this mission. If it succeeded, it would be the crowning achievement in Konrad's career as a soldier and an officer...

 _"Lt. Col. Long, can you hear me?"_

...It ended in complete failure."

 _"Open your eyes, David..."_

"The sandstorms worsened, and the convoy stalled ten clicks outside of Dubai, in the middle of the storms...Over a thousand men, women, children and soldiers lost their lives in the failed Evacuation."

 _"I need you to see what you have done..."_

"Then came the Mutiny..."

* * *

 **(June 10th, 2012, Naeemah Center (The Gate), Dubai, 1300 hours local time)**

 _"...Now, six months later, I have a much different opinion of Colonel John Konrad."_

LTC Long's eyes slowly opened, his pupils dilated painfully to the bright light around him. He, along with the surviving members of the 33rd's Command Staff, the leaders of the Mutiny, were bound to chairs on a raised stage in main conference room of the Naeemah Convention Center in Dubai, known to the 33rd as The Gate. There were hundreds of 33rd soldiers packed into the conference room. Some were seated in the uncomfortable hard, plastic chairs, some were standing in the back. Some had looks of absolute hatred in their eyes, others, horror or pity.

As Long's eyes came into focus, he saw one figure that he felt all three of those emotions; anger, hatred, horror and pity. Ironically, it was the one man whom he once loved as a surrogate father figure, a close friend, and someone he held in the highest regard and esteem. Standing at a podium in full dress uniform was Col. John Konrad, the leader of the Damned 33rd. Long heard the colonel speak.

"Men of the 33rd, you know why you are here. These last six months have been...trying for us all. Know this, what transpired in that time was not your fault..."

Konrad gestured to Long and his fellow captive officers.

"It is the fault of those who started this Mutiny. I know there are those of you present here who sympathize with, or even agree with their motivations. And I do not blame them for their motivations..."

He turned his gaze to Long, and the Old Man's hazel eyes hardened.

"...But if order is to be maintained, an example has to be made. These leaders of the Mutiny, they are traitors, guilty of the highest of crimes against the Damned 33rd, that of desertion and fratricide..."

Long closed his eyes again as he heard Konrad continue.

"...In past wars during extreme circumstances, and these certainly qualify, the United States Army doesn't mince words about the fate of traitors. Traitors were executed by the harshest methods available at the time..."

He nodded to the soldiers behind the captive officers, who removed the gags from the bound men's mouths. Konrad turned and spoke directly to his erstwhile Command Staff.

"As you know, the penalty for your actions is death. I am prepared to be lenient, but that depends on your cooperation."

Konrad nodded to the two soldiers off to the side. Long heard doors open, and footfalls marching in. He turned his head, enough to see one of the 33rd's wearing heavily modified EOD armor, a Heavy Trooper, carrying a green crate. The Heavy Trooper set the crate down, and as Long's gaze fell upon the crate, his blood froze as he read the warning signs stenciled in the side.

WARNING: WHITE PHOSPHORUS ORDNANCE!

The Heavy Trooper pulled out a WP mortar shell, one that had been modified to be detonated remotely. He set the mortar in front of the bound officers, then lumbered over to Konrad and handed him the detonator.

Long, along with his fellow captive officers, were mesmerized by the Wily Pete mortar shell. The leader of the Mutiny broke from his reverie enough to hear Konrad speak again.

"You know what this is, gentlemen. I don't want to do this, and we can avoid this...unpleasantness if you all renounce your actions in the Mutiny and admit your wrongdoing."

The captive mutineers remained silent. Long could feel the tension in the air, as invasive and omnipresent as the sand as he heard Konrad continue.

"I'm only going to make this offer once, admit your wrongdoing, or face the the wrath of Wily Pete."

That caused something in the leader of the Exiles' to snap, and he finally directed his attention from the mortar to Konrad, glaring contemptuously at his erstwhile commander and friend.

"This is all your fault, John. Not ours."

He heard Captain Wright speak next to him.

"We're not to blame, sir. You are."

Off on the end, Chris Hammond struggled to speak. Wounded at the airfield, he had to be tied around the chest to keep him upright in his chair.

"No...," he said, shaking his head vigorously, "No..."

Jeff Bowles, who sat on the other side of Long looked resigned to his fate.

"Fuck it. Lets just get this over with." He mumbled, almost to himself.

Ken Tebby looked Konrad directly in the eye, his face ablaze with undisguised contempt. He spat on the floor and turned away.

Long continued.

"Colonel, I know now that it was folly to stay here, hubris to think we could save this city. This city and its inhabitants were doomed the minute the storms arrived. That, I could have forgiven you, sir. But to stay here? It's suicide."

He heard Konrad speak, this time something resembling emotion bleeding into his voice.

"For the last time Dave, we can't leave these people to die!"

The former XO glared at Konrad.

"You think you can save these people? You think you can be the hero, is that it?"

Long jerked his head around.

"Look around you, John. Does this look like the handiwork of a hero? Do the things you've done...the things we've all done, on your orders, are those things that a hero would do?"

He shook his head.

"This city is a lost cause, John. The people are dying. Your men...our men, are dying. There were over 10,000 people alive in Dubai when we arrived. 1,800 of them are now rotting in the desert. Half of the 33rd are are swinging from lampposts or buried under the sand, and the other half are killing each other and emptying mags into civilians, all on your orders! The last straw was that these civilians...the refugees... them worshiping you as a god!"

Long saw Konrad shaking his head, as if to say something, but he cut the colonel off.

"Don't lie to me, John! I know you get off on that power trip! I've seen the cult of personality they've built around their God and Savior, John Konrad. They think their gods abandoned them, so they've replaced their gods with you! They've even made effigies of you! For that I cannot and will not forgive you, when it became clear to me and the rest of your command staff that you wouldn't abandon your 'followers', we took matters into our own hands."

He looked around him.

"The results of which, well...you know."

Lt. Colonel Long sighed, almost in a defeated manner.

"I will not renounce my actions, Colonel. I refuse to apologize for doing what needed to be done. I can't stop you now, but you're the one who has to live with it. And if that means we burn for holding to our code as officers, then so be it."

Konrad spoke again, all pretense of military bearing gone, his stoic face crumbling as the horror bled from his words.

"Goddammit Dave don't make me do this! Please!"

Long looked back at him with something almost like pity.

"You still don't get it, do you John? This isn't about us making a choice. It is about _**you**_ making a choice."

Konrad stared back at him. Long could see that the colonel had sweat forming on his brow, and for once it wasn't the heat.

The entire room went silent as Konrad regained his composure and picked up the detonator. Long's heart beat quicker, in spite of his words he felt a real, naked fear as the commander of the 33rd held their doom in his hands. He closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable, and wondering how much pain he would be in before he would succumb to the burning. Vaguely he heard Konrad speak in a rapid, frantic manner.

"Please...please don't make me do this...I beg of you."

Silence greeted the colonel, and he exploded in a combination of fury and frustration.

"I don't want to do this, Dave! Renounce the damned Mutiny and admit your wrongdoing!"

It was Ken Tebby who raised his head and looked at Konrad defiantly. When he finally spoke, his voice carried throughout the conference room, loud and steady.

"I am an American soldier. I am a warrior and a member of a team. I serve the people of the United States and live the Army values..."

Wright joined in.

"...I will always place the mission first..."

Hammond struggled to speak up.

"...I-I will never accept d-defeat..."

A tear fell from Captain Bowles's cheek, but his eyes betrayed no fear as he continued.

"...I will never quit..."

LTC David Long never felt more proud of his fellow officers. Suddenly, he remembered those words his father told him, so long ago. He opened his eyes, held his head up high and faced the audience as he joined in.

"...I will never leave a fallen comrade."

He ignored his commander, but the other soldiers in the conference room saw Konrad's facade begin to crumble. Most of the soldiers were still watching, transfixed, as the mutineers continued in unison, led by Lt. Colonel Long.

"I am disciplined, physically and mentally tough, trained and proficient in my warrior tasks and drills. I always maintain my arms, equipment, and myself. I am an expert and a professional. I stand ready to deploy, engage, and destroy the enemies of the United States in close combat. I am a guardian of freedom and the American way of life..."

Konrad felt sick to his stomach. For the first time, the reality of the situation hit him. He was no hero. He had made himself the villain of his own story. He felt the weight of his actions and decisions and firmly on his shoulders. But there was no turning back now, he had made his decision and now he had to live with it. He looked over to Long, the leader of the mutineers, who was purposefully staring straight ahead, not wanting to even look at him. His adjunct, and a man he once considered closer than a brother, finish in a soft but forceful voice.

"I _**am**_ an American soldier."

Konrad closed his eyes and pushed the red button on the detonator.

Long at first was blinded by the bright flash as the WP mortar detonated, his nostrils were overwhelmed by the rancid, garlic-like smell of the white phosphorus combusting in the air. He felt his skin pricked by a million burning white-hot embers, and he bit his tongue so that he wouldn't scream.

Then, something odd happened. The burning sensation dulled, and he heard a voice. A soft, melodious feminine voice whisper in his ear.

 ** _"Fear not, David Long, I will not let you burn..."_**

Then, in a bright flash, Long found himself in a forest. It was looked old, with trees whose trunks were larger than those in the Redwood Forest, their leaves were a bright green that reflected the light as if they were made of fine emerald glass. The leader of the Exiles thought the place looked like it belonged in a painting, it was almost too perfect and beautiful to be real. Then he heard a voice speak behind him.

 _ **"I have brought you here, for a purpose, David."**_

Long spun around, and for a second his breath was taken away. The owner of the voice was a tall, beautiful woman with fair skin and long flowing hair. She stepped forward lightly, her tresses and gossamer-thin raiment swished as she approached him. He found himself staring into her eyes, which were a deep emerald green, and seemed larger than normal. She came closer, until Long could see his own reflection in those beautiful eyes.

 _ **"You loved him as a father, a brother, and a close friend. It made your death all the more hurtful, didn't it, David?"**_

He shook himself awake, long enough to see her beautiful eyes glisten, until tears that sparkled like precious stones traced their way down her radiant features. Her sadness piqued Long to the core, every fiber of his being wanted to comfort her, to wipe away her tears. She seemed to sense his thoughts, and a small smile played on the Beautiful Lady's lips.

 _ **"But here you are, because I have plucked your thread from that hellish Tapestry before it was cut. Because I have faith that you can redeem yourself, and your men."**_

Long finally found himself able to speak.

"You...you want to send me on a mission?"

The Lady smiled.

 _ **"Yes, in a word. You will be able to be the hero, to defeat a great evil, and help others on their quest. If you succeed you will obtain redemption and achieve your heart's desire. Will you do this, David Long?"**_

She stepped in closer, until her face was very close. Long could almost feel her breath on his face, and her beauty took away all rational thought from the career US Army officer. Finally he found his voice, and spoke, albeit stutteringly as he stared at her beauty.

"Um...ah...that is, yes, sure...why not?"

The Lady gave him a beatific smile.

 _ **"Very well, you will be reunited with your subordinates, as well as some other companions. Heed their advice, listen to your heart, and you will become the hero..."**_

With that, she reached out with a slender hand, and extended a delicate finger to Long's chest, and touched it. He felt an electric charge, and there was a bright flash of light. The Weaver of Fate stood there for a few more minutes, before a doorway appeared behind her. A man wearing a bright blue Hawaiian shirt with pink flamingos stepped out. He pulled out a pipe and started the complex ritual of lighting it. Finally the mysterious man spoke.

"Well, toots?"

The Weaver turned to her employer.

 _ **"It is done. All of the pieces are now on the board, my Lord."**_

He took a puff from his pipe and smiled.

"Nice! Now we get to see how everything pans out."

The mysterious man, known to some as a god, others as an Author Avatar, and still others just as Country Ollman, paused.

"Athough, I think that a certain self-proclaimed critic is really not going to like all these 4th Wall Breaking sessions, but hey, you can't please everyone, now can you?"

* * *

 _(AN: So, there you have it. I know it's just more fluff, but hopefully it will whet your appetite until I can get the next chapter up. Like I said I'm going to try my darnedest to get it up by next week, but it will depend on my schedule and my short-term memory recall. Until then, don't touch that dial!)_


	5. Desert Storm

_(AN: Sooo, I would have had this up sooner, but most of it got lost when my computer crashed. I've been able to piece it back together, but I still don't think it's as good as the original. Anyways, I will be introducing a new character in this chapter, and said characters' background will be detailed in the next chapter. I originally was going to introduce them at the beginning of this chapter, but it messed with the pacing. And sorry for it being shorter than the last few chapters, I had to split this off so that the beginning of the next chapter can detail the new character's background. I promise the next chapter won't take so long._

 _On the plus side, I have been pleasantly surprised by the amount of attention this story has garnered. It has way more hits than ZSNT had at this stage of the story. Granted, at the time I was still learning the ropes, but it's always encouraging. Anyways, hope you enjoy!)_

* * *

 **(Date: ? Agabrah Marketplace, 15:09 hours local time)**

During the daytime Agabrah's streets were always busy. Even in the heat of the midday's sun the marketplace would be bustling with the city's inhabitants, buying and selling everything from fresh produce and fruits to exotic silks from the Orient and woven carpets. But now, the entire street was deserted, the marketplace uninhabited, the vendor's stalls abandoned without a soul to be seen. A dull breeze blew some of the dust from the sandy street, to an overturned apple cart, spinning its wheels lazily.

The spilled apples spread out like a carpet on the dusty street, one apple even had rolled until it came to rest by a large black tire, belonging to a battered US Army HUMVEE. The HUMVEE was stuck in an improvised trench that acted as a trap. Suddenly, a figure darted out of a side-alleyway, it was a heavily armed man wielding a sword and armor of the Royal Palace, but without the livery or colors of the Sultan, which meant he was a freelancer.

As soon as he left cover the man let out a ferocious bellow and charged towards the HUMVEE. There was a loud, staccato bark, and the man jerked back abruptly and collapsed, like a marionette with its strings cut. He collapsed to the ground.

PVT. Davis lowered his SCAR-H and ducked back behind the military truck, pushing the release catch on the receiver, ejecting the empty magazine. He shouted over to Mayfield, who was covering the empty street with his MSG 90 sniper rifle.

"Changing! Changing Mags!"

* * *

 **(BGM: SO:TL OST, "Get To The Choppa!")**

* * *

Mayfield glanced briefly to see their medic reloading his machine gun, then saw movement and checked his scope. There were two burly thugs being flanked by two more janissaries wielding crossbows. The janissaries crouched down and held their crossbows up in the air. The private shouted out.

"Arrows, Arrows, Arrows!"

Both he and Davis rolled under the HUMVEE, as arrows pelted the ground where they were standing. Their opponents advanced, thinking that they were in the clear, but both Davis and Mayfield fired their weapons from under their transport. Bullets tore through flimsy mail and leather armor, and all four of their opponents crumpled to the ground, clutching their legs and howling in agony. Their pain was cut short as headshots finished them off, then Davis and Mayfield rolled back out and into their positions behind the the HUMVEE. Davis shouted back at his CO.

"Changing mags! Enemy QRF coming up on the rear!"

Lt. Bradley gave the private a nod, then shouted into his own radio.

"Misfit Two, if you do not have eyes on the package fall back, enemy QRF is trying to outflank!"

His radio crackled to life and SSG Connors' voice came through the static.

 _"Misfit One Actual, this is Misfit Two, I have the package, we hit the target early...be advised there are crossbowmen in the field..."_

The lieutenant grinned and keyed the mic.

"Roger that, Misfit Two just get your ass back here!"

Bradley looked up and hollered over to Mayfield.

"Misfit Two is inbound, check your fire, check your fire!"

The private gave the thumbs up and scanned the street with his scope. There was more armed guards incoming. He called over to Mayfield again.

"Better get Deadly on the horn, private. Shit's gonna get hairy here in a bit!"

Mayfield hollered back a 'Lima Charlie', and Torrez grinned at Bradley.

"Still think it was a good idea to take that detour, El-Tee?"

* * *

 **(earlier, an Oasis in the desert, location ?)**

"Do ya think he's gonna wake up?"

PVT. Davis looked up from his patient.

"Why, you wanna ask pretty boy out here on a date?"

SGT. Torrez just grinned in response.

"Naw, he ain't my type."

The sergeant had been had been pestering the Exile medic since daybreak about their new passenger. Mostly, because having a load to tend to meant that they were 'stuck' in one place instead of continuing on their journey. The previous evening, on Bradley's orders their small convoy had taken a detour in the desert. When they arrived the large cat head statue had sunken into the sand, leaving nothing but a large crevice. Perched on the ledge of the crevice was a young man, unconscious. Lt. Bradley had Davis administer first aid to the boy, and over the objections of his two NCO's had decided to take him with them.

"He'd die of exposure if we left him in the desert," the lieutenant explained, "...besides, there's probably a settlement nearby that he can direct us to..."

At dawn SSG Connors had spotted another oasis, along with what looked like a large city in the distance. They had set up camp, taking inventory of their food and water rations. PVT. Davis was checking on the boy when Torrez was pestering him. In the light they were able to get a good look at their new passenger. He was in his teens, dressed in rags, and at least looked Middle-Eastern, so that was a comfort to the group of 'Exiles.' At least they couldn't be too far from the Emirates. The medic's thoughts were interrupted when he heard a groan. The boy was coming to. Davis hollered over to his CO, who was pouring over a map spread out over the lead HUMVEE's hood.

"Hey loot! Our guest is coming to!"

Bradley made his way over to the improvised shelter. Of the group the lieutenant was the most fluent in Gulf Arabic, as well as Farsi and some of the Afghani dialects, so he had been designated the interpreter. The young officer crouched down beside the boy, just as his eyes were starting to flutter open. He started in English, on the off chance that the kid spoke it.

"Okay, I need you to take it easy. You're alright, we're American soldiers stranded in the desert, but we mean you no harm..."

The young thief felt his head throbbing, trying to remember what had happened the previous night to make him hurt so bad. Had he been captured by the city Guards at last, and had been beaten by them, then thrown into a dungeon cell? He opened his eyes, and immediately regretted it. The bright light blurred his vision, which at least meant he was not in a dungeon.

He heard a voice speak, but could not make out the words. As his eyes came into focus, he could see that someone was framed in the light, it was the one speaking. Then he saw a vision that frightened the young thief to his core. There was a man looming over him, his pale skin marked him as a _farangī_ , a white foreigner, and his appearance was terrifying. He had heard tales that the foreigners from the faraway land of the Franks wore bizarre clothing and armor, but this like nothing he had ever seen before.

He wore baggy pantaloons that at first appeared to be the color of moss, but upon closer inspection were made of a woven material with many small geometric patterns in them. His feet were encased in sand-colored boots that went almost up to his knees, and his armored breastplate was a darker green with all sorts of odd things fastened to it. There were a pair of darkened spectacles perched on top of the man's shaved head, he looked as alien to the young thief as any desert _djinn_. The foreign man spoke again, this time in something that sounded like a guttural version of the boy's own language.

"I...speak, understand...you?"

The young thief nodded, and the _farangī_ continued.

"No harm...we you help..."

He pointed to his armored chest.

"...B'raad-Lee."

He then pointed to the young thief. The boy understood, the foreigner had named himself, he was called B'rad-Lee. He pointed to himself.

"Ala'ud-Dīn...my name is Ala'ud-Dīn."

Bradley sat back on his haunches and glanced over to Davis.

"Well, either it's a hell of a coincidence, or we've officially lost cabin pressure."

The medic frowned.

"Why?"

The lieutenant jerked a gloved thumb at the young man.

"Well, I switched to Farsi and the kid finally understood me."

That was unsettling to the medic. Gulf Arabic was the _lingua franca_ of the Emirates, and most of the Arabian peninsula, if the kid was speaking Farsi, then they were far off course. Davis shrugged.

"So? He could be one of the refugees from Dubai..."

"...and he said his name was Aladdin."

Torrez let out a low whistle.

"Whoa, whoa, hold it! You mean like Arabian Nights, Forty Thieves shit?"

Bradley glanced back at the kid and shrugged.

"Dunno, I'm gonna try and get some more information."

Aladdin was now very scared. The foreigner wasn't alone, there were two others, and they were dressed identically. One was pale-skinned like B'raad-Lee, but the other was tanned, and looked to have hailed from the Iberian continent. Like B'raad-Lee they wore armored vests, but the tanned one wore a cloth-covered helm that was the same color as his pantaloons. A pair of canvas straps dangled from the helm, but it looked as alien as the rest of the foreigner's attire. They were conversing in their own dialect, before B'raad-Lee spoke to him again.

"Where...where do you hail from, Aladdin?"

The young thief had to think for a moment, and then saw the city in the distance. He sat up to point towards it, and was rewarded with another wave of throbbing pain and nausea. The other pale-skinned _farangī_ gently but firmly pushed him back onto his improvised cot. The man must have been the healer of the group as he placed a bare hand on his forehead and held his wrist. Davis checked the kid's pulse and looked back over to his CO.

"Sir, this kid's still pretty weak, we should let him rest up before asking any more questions..."

Bradley was about to answer when the kid, Aladdin began to speak frantically.

"What's he saying?"

The lieutenant shook his head.

"Kid's probably delusional. He's babbling about some large treasure trove..."

Torrez leaned in.

"Treasure? Like gold!?"

Bradley frown at the sergeant.

"Like I said, he's probably still suffering from the after-effects of that concussion...and even if there was a hypothetical treasure, we can't eat gold or drink it instead of water. I'd sooner ask him where we can get re-supplied before heading back out into the desert."

Torrez was about to retort, but apparently changed his mind and turned to leave. Bradley looked back down at the young man, addressing him in Farsi.

"Look, Aladdin, you're not in any shape to get the treasure now. You took a nasty knock to the head..."

The young man shook his head, interrupted him.

"But you don't understand! I need that treasure, I need its riches, so I can become a prince, so that I can marry the princess!"

Okaaaay, Bradley thought to himself, either the kid took a bigger knock to the head than Davis originally thought, or they definitely weren't in the Emirates anymore. Better keep this to under wraps, he thought.

The lieutenant turned his attention back to the boy called Aladdin, he could see that the kid wasn't going to take no for an answer.

"Look, I tell you what...we'll help you get this treasure, after you've recovered. But we'll need your help."

The boy nodded.

"Of course, anything I swear by Allah, glory be to Him, that if you help me in my quest I will accomplish any task you set upon me!"

Bradley chuckled.

"Okay, riiight. So, all we need is a guide, someone to help us get to that city and get some supplies, food, water possibly fuel."

The boy looked puzzled.

"Fuel?"

Bradley pointed to one of the HUMVEE's parked by the improvised shelter.

"We need diesel, or at least some sort of oil you use for burning candles, to power our vehicles."

Aladdin stared at the construct in amazement.

"How can you move that? Mere horses couldn't pull that..."

The lieutenant shook his head. Even if this kid had been living under a rock his whole life, he should still know what a car looks like and what an internal combustion engine does. Bradley pushed aside the thought and continued.

"It's a horseless carriage. It moves by an engine, powered by fuel."

Seeing the odd way that the boy was staring at the military trucks just reinforced to the lieutenant what his gut was already telling him. Somehow they had left the sandstorm in Dubai and ended up in a fairy tale. Bradley's rational mind rebelled against the implications, but then his memory went back two nights ago, when they had fled the airport. He had a half-remembered dream of a beautiful woman who promised that he would become a hero, and that he would go to land where heroes were needed. Maybe this was the place?

His thoughts were interrupted by Torrez, who had stepped away.

"Sir! Mayfield's got eyes on an inbound chopper! Looks like a search and rescue, and one of ours!"

Bradley grinned. For a moment he dismissed the thoughts. If there was a military helicopter, then maybe they weren't in some weird fairy tale world.

"Hot damn! It's our ticket out of this sandbox!"

He walked over to where Mayfield was standing, at the rear of the HUMVEE staring through the sights of his sniper rifle. Bradley could see a speck on the horizon, and could hear the distinctive chopping noise of a helicopter. He pulled out his binoculars, trying to get a fix on the inbound craft. Sure enough, Mayfield was right, it was a Black Hawk helicopter, its grey paint job identified it as a Navy or Marine bird, which meant it wasn't one of the 'Damned'. He turned to the private, who was listening in on his long-range radio.

Mayfield paused for a moment, then handed Bradley the radio mic.

"Sir, you're gonna want to hear this..."

The lieutenant listened, and could hear a female voice coming through the static.

 _"To the US Military transponder IFF ID Romeo Foxtrot Eight, Six, Seven, Fife, Tree, Zero, Niner, this is US Navy SeaHawk Helo callsign Deadly transmitting in the blind, how copy..."_

Bradley was astounded, and keyed the mic.

"Ah, solid copy Deadly this is...ah, Misfit One Actual, I authenticate IFF ID Romeo Foxtrot, Echo Bravo Four, Zero, Niner, Niner, how copy?"

The voice responded through the static.

 _"Solid copy Misfit One Actual, it's good to hear another voice..."_

The lieutenant responded.

"Ah, Deadly, are you from CENTCOMM? I had a feeling we were lost, or worse..."

He could hear the female voice chuckle on the other end.

 _Be advised, it probably is what you think it is. As for where I came from...it's a long story. Probably better I tell it in person."_

Bradley nodded.

"Roger that, Deadly, do you need a heading?"

 _"Negative, I am homing in on your transponder, ETA five mikes."_

The lieutenant glanced over to Mayfield, who had overheard.

"C'mon, let's go tell Davis. We might not need our HUMVEE's, after all."

When Bradley got back to the shelter, he saw Davis tending to the kid. The Black Hawk, callsign Deadly, was getting closer, its distinctive engine and bladed chopping noise was getting louder. He saw Aladdin had heard as well.

"W-what is that noise, B'raad-Lee?"

Bradley shrugged.

"Never heard a chopper coming inbound?"

"Ah...chah-hopper?"

The officer felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. But before he could respond the teen started freaking out and pointing to the sky.

"A dragon! It's a dragon!"

Bradley turned and saw the Black Hawk had made a pass over the oasis, and was now in a hover as it slowly descended down. Bradley shielded his eyes from the updraft kicked up a small sandstorm. He turned and saw the boy had passed out, and Davis shook his head.

"Hey, he was hyperventilating, so I administered a small dose of morphine."

"He'll be okay?"

Davis shrugged.

"He might have a headache when he wakes up, but he'll be fine. Besides, he needs rest.

Satisfied, Bradley turned his attention back to the chopper. Its wheels had touched the sandy ground, and it was already going through landing procedures.

As the engines and APU spooled down, the blades slowed, and Bradley saw the pilot open the door. He noted that it was odd, normally a chopper that size would have a co-pilot and at least one crew chief, but this bird's pilot was flying solo. He saw the pilot approach him, and knew it was a woman even before her features were concealed behind a crash helmet and mirrored aviator sunglasses.

She was tall, and her feminine figure was evident even through the baggy sage green Nomex flight suit. Bradley also noted that she was a Marine, as indicated by the tabs on her suit, and a captain. The pilot removed her gloves, then undid the strap on her helmet, pulling it free.

She had lightly tanned skin, a fine nose and slightly full lips. She had her long black hair bound into a ponytail, that pulled free of the helmet's webbing. Her grey eyes surveyed the assembled soldiers, until her gaze fell on Lt. Bradley.

"You're Misfit One Actual?"

It was the same voice as on the radio. Bradley gave a salute.

"Yes ma'am, and you must be Deadly."

The pilot gave a small grin as she returned the salute.

"In more ways than one, lieutenant. Captain Velinda Pelayo, USMC."

"2nd Lt. Bradley, US Army, 33rd Infantry."

"You're part of the Damned 33rd?"

She chuckled to herself.

"I wasn't in that shit-show that was Fallujah, but I remember ol' Chaos..."

The Marine paused.

"I mean General Mattis spoke well of Colonel Konrad and the Damned 33rd...so I suppose..."

Torrez walked up.

"Well, finally something worth looking at in this desert. You our ticket outta here? Please tell me you're not a mirage..."

Pelayo glared at Torrez, clearly not in the mood.

"Sergeant Torrez, isn't it?"

He still grinned.

"Yes ma'am, although my buddies call me Omar and the ladies call me darlin'..."

"Well, sergeant I am Captain Pelayo, I assume you gruntshits still respect the chain of command, even out here in BFE..."

She glanced over to Bradley, who gave a small shrug.

Ah, you'll have to excuse Torrez, he's a bit of a joker, but he's alright..."

The Marine shoved her gloves in her helmet in exasperation.

"Jeezus, I can't believe I have to do this mission with immature Army grunts and a wet-behind the ears Boot Loot..."

Bradley heard Torrez and Mayfield snicker, and looked indignant.

"Hey, I'm right here, you know!"

Pelayo shook her head.

"Sorry lieutenant...I didn't mean that."

Mayfield decided to break the mood and spoke up.

"Um, ma'am, on the horn you said you didn't come from CentComm...were you dispatched from the Johnny Reb?"

To his surprise, the Marine shook her head.

"Nope, someone else sent me..."

Captain Pelayo looked up at Lt. Bradley.

"Listen, lieutenant, what I have to say might come as a shock to you..."

Mayfield spoke up before his CO could respond.

"Ma'am, with respect, some of us have had recurring dreams of dying, and ending up here. And here looks like it's from the Arabian Nights..."

Bradley expected the Marine to snort derisively, or ridicule the private, but instead Pelayo just smiled.

"Well, maybe it's not gonna come as much of a shock to you...It's a long story..."

* * *

Glossary:

Janissary: Foreign crossbowmen fighters employed by in the early 13th century Ottoman Empire. They are a bit anachronistic, given that the Disney version of Aladdin is supposed to take place some time between the early 9th and late 10th century A.D.

QRF: Quick Reaction Force, an armed military unit capable of rapidly responding to developing situations.

Farangī: Persian word for foreigner, specifically the Franks.

US CENTCOMM: US Central Command, headquartered at Al Udeid Air Force Base in Quatar. Lt. Bradley thinks that Deadly is a search and rescue from the base.

BFE: US military acronym meaning Bum F*** Egypt, a slang term for a place in the middle of nowhere.

Chaos: General James Mattis's callsign during OIF. Contrary to popular opinion, the nickname 'Mad Dog' was one given to him by a civilian, but the Marines have since appropriated it.

Johnny Reb: The USS John C. Stennis, an aircraft carrier frequently dispatched to the Persian Gulf. Named after the Mississippi senator of the same name, the term is an affectionate nickname by the members of the US armed forces.

* * *

 _(AN: Aaaand I had to break it off here because the next chapter will show where Captain Pelayo came from. If you're familiar with the COD, Modern Warfare franchise, you already know, and if you don't, well, you will. Incidentally I am basing Pelayo visually off of Gal Gadot, albeit with grey eyes. Hopefully I'll have the next chapter up soonish...either in a week or two. End of March, tops. I've been neglecting my other story The Spy Who Came to Kirkwall and need to finish that next chapter before I tackle this one. Until then!)_


	6. A Man of Action

_(AN: Okay, so here we are...I thought this chapter would take longer, but I had a nice lazy day on Sunday and spent most of it churning this out, and the following couple of days proofing it. Notwithstanding, there may be some grammatical errors or the like, so please be patient. The beginning of this chapter will be giving background on Captain Pelayo...if you're familiar with Call of Duty, Modern Warfare II then this won't come as a surprise..._

 _And I would like to continue to ask the readers' indulgence in the odd pacing and back and forth perspectives of these chapters, I can't emphasize enough that this is just the 'training mission'. As to whether or not Kilo Company will make an appearance? Well, just keep reading and find out!)_

* * *

Captain Pelayo awoke with a start. At first the Marine felt panic, as her last thoughts before losing consciousness was the CH-46 Sea Knight that had evac'd her and the rest of the Marines in the Capital City had been caught up in the nuclear blast. She had vague recollections of surviving the crash, only to succumb to radiation poisoning minutes later, alongside her fellow Marines.

But when she opened her eyes the Marine pilot was in for a shock. She was in bed, but not her barracks rack, but a real, honest to goodness bed with a blanket and comforter. Pelayo slowly took in her surroundings. The room she was in was rustic with vague nautical theming, and although it was clearly well-furnished, the lack of personal touches like photographs or mementos make it look a guest room versus someone's bedroom. Behind her, sunlight shone in through a brass-framed round window that was opened on a hinge. It let in a cool breeze that smelled like the ocean, and vaguely the Marine could hear seagulls crying in the distance.

As Pelayo looked about she saw a familiar and comforting sight; her gear was stashed by a large wingback chair that was sitting next to a small fireplace opposite the bed. Placed on the chair's cushion was her flightsuit and MARPAT camo uniform, both neatly folded. Her desert boots were at the foot of the chair, her MP-5 was leaning against the chair, and her M9 was still in the shoulder holster harness dangling off one of the wings of the chair back.

She was still taking in all of this and trying to process how she got from a nuclear wasteland in the Middle East to this odd guest room, when the door opened. A large Belgian Malinois padded in and sat right at the foot of her bed. He had a fine, dark brown fur coat, and stared at Pelayo with very intelligent eyes.

The the dog shocked Pelayo by opening his mouth and speaking in a cultured, British accented voice.

"Good morning miss- Ahem, I mean, good morning Captain Pelayo. I trust you have slept well?"

The Marine was still trying to process the talking dog, but finally she got her jaws to work long enough to speak.

"Ahhh...yeah? Umm...excuse me, er-"

"Ah yes, I beg your pardon ma'am, for not introducing myself. My name is Barnaby."

The dog said 'ma'am' but it sounded like 'mum', and Pelayo just stared at the dog as if he were an apparition. Finally she found herself speaking as if her brain was on autopilot.

"Ahhh, right. So Barnaby, where am I? I'm pretty sure I died in a helo crash..."

The dog nodded sagely.

"There you are right, ma'am. You did in fact perish in after-effects of that horrific explosion."

Surprised that the talking dog would know about her fate, Pelayo continued.

"But...I don't understand, what happened to me afterwards? Why am I here?"

The dog shook his head.

"I'm terribly sorry, ma'am, but I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss that. However, my Master will be more than happy to fill you in."

He turned around and started for the door, his paws clicking on the polished wooden floor.

"Your..master?"

Barnaby paused.

"Yes, ma'am. He is the one who brought you here, and wishes to discuss something important with you. He is indisposed at the moment, but should be available shortly. In the meantime-"

He reached up and pushed open the door with one of his large paws.

"I am making breakfast, you are more than welcome to partake."

Barnaby paused.

"If you are still feeling out of sorts I can bring in a breakfast tray-"

He stopped when Pelayo waved him off.

"No, that's alright. I need to get up anyways."

The dog nodded and left without another word, leaving the Marine pilot trying to figure out what was going on. But the more Pelayo tried to figure it out, the more the sheer incongruity of her situation made no sense. And just thinking about it made her head hurt. Finally, she remembered something her Drill Instructor taught her in boot camp. When faced with an unknown sitch, just remember: Improvise, Adapt and Overcome.

Pelayo shrugged. That made as much sense as anything since she woke up, so without any more thoughts, she threw the covers off and sat up.

A phantom pain shot through her left leg. That's right, she had broken her leg when her Cobra gunship had crashed in the Capital City. She reached out and massaged her leg, but found no bones broken, no signs of scar tissue or any injury. And yet, she could still vividly remember the pain of her leg being broken. She could even remember the agonizing pain as she was being carried from the crash site to the CH-46 Sea Knight. And yet, now it was completely healed. No, scratch that, she thought, it was as if it never happened.

Pelayo stood up and walked over to the corner of the room where there was a wash basin with a small mirror. As she splashed some water on her face she saw that she was dressed in her coyote brown undershirt and silkies. As she untangled her hair and tied it up into a bun she noticed her face was none the worse for the wear. She grabbed her MARPAT uniform and got dressed, then pulled on socks and her boots. She decided against strapping on her weapon, and stuffed her jarhead cap in one of the pockets. Before leaving Pelayo took a quick glance in the mirror, making sure her uniform didn't have any obvious wrinkles, then exited the room.

As she opened the door the fragrant odor of breakfast cooking assaulted her nostrils. The smell of eggs frying and bacon cooking took Pelayo back to her base at Camp Pendleton, specifically the DFAC at chow time, and as if on cue her stomach growled. She walked down a small corridor that took her into a room that seemed to function as both a study, dining room and pretty much everything else. There was a set of double doors on one end of the room that obviously went to an office or study, and on the opposite side was an arched doorway where the smells of breakfast emanated from, it was clearly the kitchen.

"Well, you're the last person I expected to see here..."

She turned around, and for the first time saw another person. Sitting at the table was another Marine, this one wearing desert MARPAT, and was in the process of wolfing down a large heaping plate of scrambled eggs, sausage and biscuits with gravy. Pelayo also noted that his plate was the same standard-issue metal plate that be in any Marine DFAC. Finally she spoke.

"Jackson?"

The Marine looked up from his plate and grinned.

"Good to see you, Capt'n."

Pelayo's mission during Operation Shock n' Awe was to support Gunnery Sgt. Jackson's squad on the assault on the Capital City. It was Jackson's CO Lt. Vasquez that made the call to turn around their CH-46 Sea Knight to rescue Pelayo after her Cobra gunship had crashed. It was the right call, no Marine leaves another behind. It also doomed them all, as their delay in stopping to rescue the downed pilot got them caught up in the blast after Al-Asad detonated the nuke. Jackson saw that Pelayo was still staring at him like an apparition.

"S'matter? You look like you just saw a ghost..."

"...And in a matter of speaking, she is..."

Both turned to see the new voice, which was Barnaby, who was standing at the entrance to the kitchen.

"I beg your pardon for interrupting ma'am, but Gunnery Sergeant Jackson is expected in the Master's study."

Jackson wiped off his mouth with a paper napkin and stood up.

"Well, the reunion's gonna have to wait until later, but I'm glad you made it outta that hellhole."

He gave a quick salute.

"Ma'am."

Pelayo was still staring at the Marine and returned his salute involuntarily. She watched as Jackson made his way to the double doors, and knocked. A muffled voice spoke and the doors opened. Without another word Jackson entered through the open doors, which shut behind him. The female Marine heard a slight cough behind her, and turned around. Barnaby was still sitting there, looking up at her.

"Would you be taking some breakfast, Captain?"

Her stomach growled again, and Pelayo saw the dog actually smile.

"Very good ma'am, I'll take that as a yes. Please follow me."

Barnaby turned around and padded into the kitchen, Pelayo followed. The kitchen was bright and well-appointed, all gleaming white surfaces and chrome accents, in contrast to the rest of the house's more rustic style. She saw the dog standing on a stool and serving food onto a metal plate. When he was done Barnaby nudged the plate closer towards her with his nose. It smelled divine, and Pelayo took no time in grabbing one of the forks and tucking in.

Just as she thought that a cup of strong coffee would wash this delicious meal down, then one appeared right by her elbow on the countertop. She looked over to Barnaby, and if dogs could shrug, he did.

"I assumed you would want coffee with your breakfast, ma'am. Brewed extra strong with just a pinch of salt, just the way you had it back at the Fleet."

Pelayo just nodded and took a sip, and was rewarded with a nice hit of caffeine. She chuckled to herself, almost causing a piece of bacon to go down the wrong tube. The dog seeme to notice.

"Everything alright, ma'am?"

She nodded.

"Yeah, it's just this is almost exactly like the sort of breakfast we got back at base, and it always surprised us Marines that the cooks were trained to make awesome breakfast like this, and then serve us shit on a shingle for dinner..."

She finished her meal and, without thinking reached over and scratched behind the dog's ear. Realizing what she did, she pulled back.

"Ah, sorry, I didn't mean anything by that..."

But to her surprise, Barnaby merely thumped his tail once on the kitchen's tiled floor.

"Think nothing of it ma'am, that was probably the highest compliment you could pay me for your meal."

The dog paused, and turned his head towards the double doors.

"And now, I think, the Master will see you."

Pelayo nodded and set down her plate. As she made her way across to the entrance, she paused. Going into any situation, especially one that was an unknown, always filled the Marine with a mixture of apprehension and dread. She turned to Barnaby, who gave her a reassuring nod.

"There is nothing to fear, ma'am. The Master is not what you expect. Just listen to what He has to say, and keep an open mind."

Pelayo nodded, then knocked on the doorframe. She heard a muffled voice say 'Enter!' and the doors opened. She stepped through them, and her first impression was one of an old-fashioned study. There was a rustic but cozy-looking fireplace on one wall, with a couch on one side and a large easy chair opposite it. On one wall was a floor-to-ceiling bookcase teeming with old leather-bound books, beside it was a table with a desk lamp and papers strewn about. Seated at the desk was a man who was in the process of typing on a laptop. The man didn't seem to notice her at first, but then he spoke up.

"I'll be with you in a minute..."

He continued typing, then stopped, and stood up from his chair. As he came around to table Pelayo got a good look at the man. He looked to be in his thirties, with sunburned skin, a scruffy beard and blonde hair that had been sun-bleached. He was wearing an old Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts and flip-flops. Pelayo heard him speak again.

"Ah, well you certainly clean up nicely, much better than before..."

She had a vague memory of seeming the same man peering into the wreckage of the Sea Knight as she lay dying of radiation poisoning, but he continued.

"I know this must be a lot to take in, Captain Pelayo, so please have a seat."

She noticed that, although he spoke fluent English, it was with a slight accent. Slowly Pelayo made her way to the couch and sat down. The man took a seat opposite her and pulled out a pipe from his pocket. As he went through the ritual of cleaning it and packing tobacco into the bowl, he continued.

"You must have many questions, so before I begin please feel free to ask away..."

Pelayo watched as the man lit his pipe, then finally found her voice.

"W-who are you?"

The man finished lighting his pipe, took a deep puff and smiled.

"An excellent question. I am...well, I am someone who fixes things. With my powers I can fix all the problems in a world, or create a dozen new problems, or even create a whole new world and fill it full of inhabitants."

The Marine raised an eyebrow.

"So...you're God?"

The man chuckled.

"I prefer the name Country Ollman, but to answer your question, I am not 'God' but I might as well be one, for all the powers I wield."

He saw the look on Pelayo's face and chuckled.

"I know, I don't look anything like the pictures in Bible study, but for what it's worth, everyone got it wrong. And, by the way, I'm not unique. There is a whole Pantheon of Beings like us, who create worlds or fix existing ones with our powers."

The man called Country paused.

"You okay? You look a little...out of it..."

He glanced over to a small table where a group of bottles and carafes sat.

"I know it's a bit early but Barnaby can mix up a mean tissue-restorer if you need a boost."

Pelayo shook her head.

"No...no it's okay. It's just a lot to take in. I always imagined the Afterlife to be different, not..." She waved around her, "...this."

She saw Country tilt his head, and quickly added.

"Not that you and your dog haven't been great, it's just...weird."

Country took another puff on his pipe and smiled.

"Don't worry, you're not the first one to have that sort of reaction..."

He nodded towards the drink bar.

"Your fellow Marine actually drank half a bottle of my bonded bourbon when I told him the same thing, he wasn't as stoic."

Pelayo grinned to herself.

"Yeah, that surprises me. Gunny was always one who was super cool and collected under fire. Then again, this..."

Her voice trailed away, but then she regained her composure and directed her attention back to her host.

"So, you're basically a 'god', so I gotta ask, why?"

The man gave an enigmatic smile.

"Why what?"

"Why did you rescue me and Gunny Jackson from that irradiated hellhole?"

The man shrugged.

"Because I saw potential. And it seemed like the right thing to do."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Why just us? If you're a god, why not save all my fellow Marines?"

The man's smile was still on his face, but for a brief moment there was something both majestic and terrible about it.

"Who says I didn't?"

Then, as soon as it appeared it vanished, and the man called Country Ollman was back to smoking his pipe, a friendly grin on his face. He spoke again.

"And to answer your first question, it is because I have a need for your and the Gunny's services."

"Such as?"

"Skills that only a Marine possesses. You see, there are others like you. Others who,like you, had their threads were cut before their time..."

He paused.

"I had their threads plucked and re-woven into another story. One where they can do good, and earn their happy ending, so to speak."

Country finished his pipe and tapped out the ashes into the hearth.

"Unfortunately, they're going to get themselves into quite a few scrapes before they earn the title of hero, and that's where you come in."

He glanced at the mouthpiece of his pipe and stuck it back into his pocket.

"Actually, they're about to get themselves into quite a pickle and will need your help soon."

Pelayo sat back.

"Soooo, you want me to play sidekick to these wannabe heroes?"

The man shook his head, laughing lightly.

"Oh no, you all will be on equal footing. As a matter of fact, with a couple of exceptions, you will be the one in charge of them."

She chewed on her lower lip, processing this information.

"So, assuming I agree this, what's in it for me?"

"Well, the adventure of a lifetime for one. Second, it gives you a chance to be a hero, not just a pawn in someone else's game of bloodsport otherwise known as war. And lastly, I will grant you your heart's desire."

A small memory pushed itself unbidden into Pelayo's mind, and her eyes narrowed at Country.

"I highly doubt that."

The man shrugged.

"If you don't want to play along, that's perfectly fine. I'll send you on your way, and you can pass on, move on as it were, to the Beyond."

He saw the puzzled look on her face.

"It's what would have happened if you had perished in the Capital City and I had not intervened."

Pelayo thought about it for a while, then finally spoke.

"What did Gunny, I mean what response did Jackson give?"

"Oh, the usual reaction. First disbelief, then denial, followed by venting...Although, after he thought about it, he did agree."

The Marine nodded, then stood up.

"Fine, sign me up, whatever. It's gotta be better than spending time bored in a fluffy bunch of clouds or being stuck on Fire Watch for all eternity."

Country also stood up and clapped his hands together.

"Excellent! This has been most informative..."

He paused.

"Although I know that a certain self-proclaimed book critic will probably not like these little interludes, but hey, if you don't like it, don't read it..."

Country saw the odd look Pelayo was giving him, and waved it off.

"Sorry, god-people problems...anyways, since you agree I will be sending you on your way. As I said, your companions have managed are going to need some help. And speaking of help, you'll have help, in the form of transportation."

He smiled in a self-deprecating manner.

"It won't be as glamorous as your Cobra, but it will get the job done."

She shrugged.

"If it's got two engines and a set of rotors, I can fly it."

She looked back.

"I need to go grab my gear, after that can you show me where is this transport at?"

Country smiled.

"You won't need to get your things, they'll travel with you."

Pelayo gave him a look.

"How?"

The man smiled.

"Like this-"

He snapped his fingers, and Captain Pelayo vanished.

Satisfied, the man when back to his desk, and started typing on his laptop again. The doors to his study opened, and Barnaby padded in.

"I trust everything is to your satisfaction, sir?"

Country paused in his typing.

"Yep, and our Tapestry has just gotten a little bit more interesting..."

* * *

 **(Meanwhile, back at the Oasis)**

"...and the next thing I knew I was flying in that Sea Hawk, I had a hand-written note with some coordinates on them. I flew on that heading, and encountered your IFF beacon."

Bradley let out a low whistle.

"Well, I can't speak for the rest of the men, but the...entity that I encountered was much different from that person...For one thing it was a she..."

He looked over to the chopper.

"Although, your appearing here is quite the game-changer. That chopper can cover a lot more ground than our HUMVEEs."

Pelayo frowned.

"Haven't you been listening to anything I've been saying, lieutenant?"

She gestured around.

"We're not in Dubai, or the Emirates, or even in Kansas anymore."

She set her hands on her hips and continued.

"I'd be happy to fly you to Al-Udeid, but I'm gonna tell you, it's not there."

The lieutenant paused.

"What do you mean, it's not there?"

The Marine sighed in exasperation.

"Oh, Army grunts are soooo thick...I mean, I flew to where Al-Udeid Air Force Base should be, and in its place was a small port city and a camel-breeding farm..."

All the 33rd soldiers took in the information, but it was Davis who finally spoke.

"If what our 'patron' was implying is true, then we're in a fairy tale, and have to help it along...is that true?"

But before the Marine could respond, Sgt. Torrez beat her to the punch.

"So what? We're supposed to help Romeo over there win over the heart of the princess and all that? Do you even hear that shit coming out of your mouth, and you realize just how batshit _loco_ it sounds?"

Pelayo snorted.

"I'm going to answer Wannabe-Casanova over here, the private's right. Basically there's some element that was missing from this story and our mission is to set it right. Otherwise we wouldn't be here."

Connor shook his head.

"Man, I gotta go with Torrez on this one, this shit's nuts."

He looked over to Bradley.

"El-Tee, what say you? You really think we're in some sort of fairy tale?"

The lieutenant seemed to consider his words. After a long five minutes he finally spoke.

"Yeah, I'd say it's nuts. But, I have had some weird dreams..."

He heard a groan coming from the shelter by the oasis, and glanced over. The kid was coming back awake.

"...and I've gotten some information that seems to back up what the Captain has been saying."

He turned his attention back his fellow Exiles.

"But, before we go charging in to help out our hero win over the princess, there are some more urgent things that need to be taken care of."

He looked over to Connors.

"We need supplies. Right now we have water, but we're going to run out of rations within a couple of days."

Bradley looked up at the palm trees.

"And while there is a supply of food here at the oasis I have a feeling once the MRE's and protein bars run out we're gonna get sick of living off a diet of water and dates."

He unslung his rifle, and Pelayo spoke up.

"So, what are you proposing to do, lieutenant?"

Bradley nodded towards the large city that loomed in the distance.

"We're going into the city and pick up supplies; food, water, even lamp oil if they have it."

The Marine stopped him.

"Are you serious? And you think that nobody's gonna notice group of 21st century soldiers waltzing into the city?"

Bradley shrugged.

"This time we're not invaders."

"They don't know that."

He nodded over to the young teen, who had sat up and was holding his head.

"We've got a native guide..."

Pelayo shook her head.

"Then at least just make it one of you..."

She looked over to Bradley.

"...And not you, you're these grunt's CO, if anything happens to you the mission's in jeopardy."

Torrez chuckled.

"Wow, loot, not even five minutes on the ground and Lady Jarhead's already bossin' you around."

He stopped when Pelayo gave him a dirty look, but Bradley responded.

"The captain's right. One of us, in disguise, should be able to slip into the city and out again without being noticed."

He looked over to Torrez.

"Sergeant, I'm glad you volunteered."

"Say what? I didn't volunteer for shit!"

"Then consider yourself volun-told...and while we're at it, get dressed into mufti."

Torrez looked like he was about to say something, but thought better of it.

"Roger that, sir."

He turned to leave.

"'Scuse me whilst I go round up a clever disguise..."

Bradley turned to Connors.

"Sar'ent Connors, I'm going to need you to take inventory of all our supplies, and get a list together of things needed to survive in the desert. Fresh fruit, produce, hell if any of those guys are selling chickens buy a couple, just make sure you pay 'em to clean them first."

Connors saluted and left. The lieutenant looked over and saw the young man, escorted by PVT. Davis, approached him. He was still rubbing his temples.

"Ayah! What sort of devil's magic have you put into me, my head throbs!"

Davis chuckled.

"Probably that concussion, kid."

Aladdin turned to the medic.

"What speaks you of this...con-cushun?"

Davis shrugged.

"Basically, you took a nasty knock to the head and hey, waitaminnit!"

He glanced over to Bradley, who seemed equally astounded.

"You understand me?"

The boy nodded.

"But how?"

Before either the boy or Bradley could respond Captain Pelayo spoke up.

"Probably thanks to me. My arrival, in the words of our 'benefactor', was to help you along the way."

She turned her attention to the young teen.

"Apparently that also means breaking down the language barriers."

Pelayo paused.

"Although it sounds like lazy storytelling if you ask me."

The boy looked over to Pelayo.

"You are a woman?! But you dress like a man, and your manners of speech are mannish!"

That caused her to direct a withering glare at the boy, while both the 33rd soldiers snickered, with Davis replying.

"Well, she is a Marine..."

She turned her glare at the medic.

"One more crack out of you, private, and you're going to laughing out of a hole on the other side of your head!"

Bradley decided to defuse the situation by addressing the boy.

"Okay, ah, Aladdin. We are in need of supplies, and you are going to make good on your promise. I want you to be their guide and help them get in and out of the city unnoticed."

Aladdin's dark eyes lit up.

"Then you will help me get the treasure?"

Bradley shrugged.

"Sure, why not?"

Captain Pelayo had been watching the exchange, and at the mention of the treasure, spoke up.

"So, why is this treasure so damned important to you, kid?"

The boy looked up at Pelayo.

"Because, it will help me win the heart of the princess!"

Davis interjected.

"Say, ah, Aladdin, have you ever...you know actually met this girl?"

The boy seemed to catch on to Davis' patronizing tone, and glared at him.

"Of course we have! We met in the city...I thought she was just a commoner like me, but then she told me she was of royalty..."

He closed his eyes.

"And I was crushed, because a commoner like me could never wed a princess."

Davis was about to make another smart-ass remark, but his CO beat him to the punch.

"Look, kid, surely this princess isn't worth risking your neck in that Cave of Wonders, was she?"

"How dare you ask such a question, she is the most beautiful creature I have ever met..."

The boy's eyes shone, and he spoke as if reciting poetry.

"Her hair is like the nights of disunion and separation and her face like the days of union and delectation; She has a nose like the edge of the burnished blade and cheeks like purple wine or anemones blood-red: her lips as coral and carnelian shine and the water of her mouth is sweeter than old wine; its taste would quench Hell's fiery pain..."

Bradley glanced over to Davis, who shrugged his shoulders.

"Okay, we get it, she's hot..."

Pelayo was the only one not impressed.

"So what?"

She saw the kid was still in a daze and snapped her fingers in front of his face.

"Hello?! News flash kid, don't care how pretty she is, but a ton of riches aren't gonna make you a prince. You should just clean up and go to her and ask her...her old man could probably make an exception..."

The teen interrupted her.

"No! I have to be a prince!"

"Well, sorry to shit in your Rice Crispies, kid, but we're not genies. We can't magically conjure you up a prince outfit and an entourage..."

Aladdin folded his arms.

"If you will not make me a prince, then I will not help you."

Davis whispered over to Bradley.

"For the record, sir, I don't remember Aladdin being this much of a brat in the cartoon."

He paused.

"And speaking of which, didn't he have a pet monkey?"

Bradley brushed aside the private's comments and intervened into the escalating argument between Pelayo and Aladdin.

"Okay, okay kid. You win. We'll help you become a prince and win over the heart of the princess."

He ignored the dumbfounded look on the Marine's face and continued.

"But first you have to make good on your promise to help my man get in and out of the city with supplies, got it?"

The boy gave a low bow.

"I will do as you say, esteemed _effendi_!"

Their conversation was interrupted as SSG Connors approached with a list written up on a sheet of paper.

"Sir, here's the list. Supplies that will keep us watered and fed for at least two weeks, possibly longer if we ration it."

Bradley took the sheet of paper and scanned it. He looked up.

"You know that alcohol is forbidden in this land, right?"

Connors shrugged sheepishly.

"Wasn't my idea, sir, it was Torrez. And he said he's oversee production as long as he had the raw ingredients."

Bradley chuckled and handed the list back to Connors.

"Fine, but tell Torrez it's his ass. Speaking of which, get him over here."

"Roger that."

After Connors left, the lieutenant saw that Pelayo was still staring at him in disbelief.

"Problem, ma'am?"

The Marine finally snapped out of it.

"Oh, nothing, lieutenant, I'm just curious how in the actual fuck you're going to turn that street urchin into a prince."

Bradley shrugged.

"Eh, we'll figure that out after we get resupplied. You said so yourself, this is a fairy tale? So maybe something will come along that will help make it happen."

He saw Torrez approach, and didn't heard Pelayo mutter under her breath something to the effect of 'we're the ones that are supposed to make it happen.'

"Sir, I have that list of supplies that Connors has compiled."

Bradley looked Torrez up and down, then frowned. The sergeant's idea of mufti was wearing a long cloak and turban, but still wearing his ACU's and gear underneath.

"Um, sergeant, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind..."

Torrez grinned.

"Hey, c'mon I'm totally rocking out this Laurence of Arabia getup..."

"And your weapon, sergeant?"

Torrez held up his UMP-45.

"Sir, with all due respect, if you think for one moment that I'm going into Haji Central with just my bare ass and Romeo here as backup, you're fuckin' crazy."

Lt. Bradley sighed and decided to let it go. He handed Torrez the sheet of paper.

"Alright, Aladdin here is going to take you into town, here's a list of food to get. I don't want to know how you get them, just get them. And get your asses back here by sundown."

He paused for a moment.

"And if you're going to keep your gear, remember to keep your radio on. If anything comes up, keep us posted."

Torrez grinned.

"C'mon sir, what could possibly go wrong?"

* * *

 **(One hour later, the streets of Agabrah)**

"Hey, buddy!"

The seller looked at one of his customers, a man with tanned skin and a short beard. He was dressed in the traditional _burnous_ of the desert nomads, but his features indicated he was not a local. Probably a merchant trader picking up foodstuffs for his caravan. The man held up a large melon, and the seller gave a low bow.

"How may I be of service, esteemed _effendi_?"

Torrez glared down at the diminutive seller and spoke in a loud voice, loud enough to be heard over the din of crowded marketplace.

"This melon's infested with insects! You should be ashamed for trying to sell this shit to the unsuspecting buying public! Hell, these melons have so many multi-legged stowaways in them you should be selling ant farms instead of fruit!"

The seller sweated profusely, and frantically tried to shush the irate customer. Unbeknownst to the seller, a hand reached out was grabbing smaller melons, one by one, and stuffing them into a sack. Aladdin cinched the sack shut and gave the thumbs-up to Torrez. It was their final stop, after sneaking into the city via the aquaducts, Torrez and the young thief had 'procured' a cart and several empty sacks and had made their rounds through the marketplace. As they had no money to pay for their supplies, both Torrez and Aladdin had to resort to more imaginative methods, namely using the oldest confidence game in the book.

The seller turned the melon over in his hands, finding no evidence of insect infestation.

"A-are you sure, esteemed _effendi_?"

Torrez saw the 'all clear' signal from Aladdin, and gave a dismissive gesture.

"Perhaps it was a fruit fly...or a brown spot...in any case, I am not interested in your wares. Good day."

He ignored the seller's frantic pleas and turned round into one of the many narrow alleyways that dotted the wide main thoroughfare. There the sergeant found Aladdin, already trying to nosh on a juicy red apple.

"Hey! That's rations for later, kid!"

But he grinned as he took the apple and took a bite from it.

"Man, you and I would make a killing in my old neighborhood of the Bronx..."

The boy cinched up the sack and tossed it into the cart with the rest of the goods.

"Where do you hail from, _effendi_?"

"Hey, knock that fancy title shit off, name's Torrez, or Omar, if you'd rather."

"Alright, _Effendi_ Omar, where do you hail from?"

The sergeant finished off his apple and tossed it.

"Imagine a big city, so big that Agabrah would be just a small section of it. A city with millions of people living in it..."

Torrez was still rambling on about his native town of New York City when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Out of instinct he started to reach under his cloak for his weapon, but stopped. It was a girl, about the same age as Aladdin, also wrapped in a cloak. She had obviously taken a wrong turn, because when her eyes fell on Torrez they grew wide with fright. Torrez was about to say something but the Aladdin beat him to the punch.

"It's you!"

She turned and her expression softened into a smile.

"I knew I would find thee here!"

She ran over and clasped her hands in the young thief's own.

"But what are you doing out here? What if you get caught again?"

The girl gave a huff.

"Then I'll have the head of the Guards flogged for sending his bloodhounds after me!"

A light went off in Torrez's head.

"Hey, you mean to say...this...this is the princess?"

The girl gave a start, but Aladdin gave her hands a reassuring squeeze.

"Not to worry, he is a friend."

She threw back her hood, revealing a beautiful girl in her late teens. Yep, Torrez thought, she looks just like she did in the cartoon. But the princess drew near, and her gaze fell on the soldiers' desert boots and the bottom hem of his ACU's. She looked up at him, scrutinizing his features.

"Where does thou hail from, friend of this boy?"

Torrez hastily covered his face.

"Um, er I come from a far off place!"

She raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

"Oh? And where might that be, stranger who wears boots instead of sandals?"

He found himself at a loss for words, but fortunately Aladdin came to his defense.

"He is a spice trader from Egypt, part of a caravan traveling to the Orient."

The sergeant gave a wave, his face still covered by a shemagh scarf.

"'Sup!"

Satisified, the princess turned her attention back to Aladdin, and as they conversed, Torrez started harnessing the cart to an old, lazy donkey that the boy had found, as he put it, 'when nobody was looking'. As he finished looping the bridle lead, the sergeant suddenly had a revelation.

"Hey, you both seem to be getting along...Why not make it official?"

The princess sighed.

"'Tis not that simple, Trader of the Nile. My father the Sultan, may Allah bless him with many more years, has decreed that I only may marry one of equal station to myself. Namely a prince."

Torrez shrugged as he took the lead and gave it a tug.

"Well, seems lame to me..."

He looked over.

"Look, Romeo, she can't come with us, so you'd best say your adios-I mean goodbyes and stuff."

The sergeant saw the sad looks on both their faces.

Shit, I'm getting waaaay too soft, Torrez thought.

"Okay, look, you can come with us as far as the aquaducts, but after that you gotta split, okay?"

That gave the desired effect, and the two continued to talk in hushed tones as Torrez led the mule and its cargo out of the alleyway and onto the street. The sergeant smiled to himself. The two really did seem made for each other, and at this rate it would be a cinch to ensure that the boy and the princess would have a happy ending.

He pushed aside the thoughts and started scanning the streets. It was still crowded with shoppers and sellers, but hardly anyone gave them a second look, but still Torrez felt uneasy. He was getting bad flashbacks to doing foot patrol on the streets of post-invasion Baghdad. Time slowed down, and every person, whether it was the old man hawking silks from China who paused to give Torrez a sidelong glance, or the young woman buying lamp oil from a vendor whose cursory glance lingered a bit too long, even the young urchin begging for coins in an arched doorway that stared at him was triggering all his soldiers' instincts.

It was all he could do to keep cool, so that when the cart came to a grinding halt, it was an almost welcome distraction to find out that their old-school cargo hauler had a wheel that was falling off. Torrez breathed a sigh of relief as time sped back up to normal. He stopped the donkey and checked the wheel. Sure enough, one of the hubs had come loose and fell off. Fortunately it was an easy fix, and the sergeant got to work.

As he struggled to get the wheel back onto the axle, it became clear that he required an extra pair of hands. Torrez looked up at Aladdin, who was chatting up the princess next to a street vendor who was selling apples.

"Hey, Romeo! You wanna quit flirtin' and give me a hand here?"

The boy immediately nodded.

"Of course, esteemed _effendi_!"

He left the princess by the stall and was at Torrez's side in a minute.

"A'ight, so I'm gonna lift this cart up, and when I do, I want you to slip this wheel back onto the axle, got it?"

Aladdin nodded, and the sergeant got to work. Sure enough, with the boy's help the wheel was secured in no time. Torrez stood up and dusted off his hands.

"Not too bad for a field repair..."

He looked over the cargo.

"I'm gonna check over the cargo, you keep an eye out..."

Aladdin nodded. Torrez was in the process of re-securing the sacks of food to the cart, when movement caught his eye. He tensed up, as it could have been a threat. Instead, it was three very attractive young ladies wearing very revealing harem outfits that sashayed past his vision.

 **(BGM: Worth It by 5th Harmony)**

The sergeant was entranced, they must have been a mirage or something, nothing that pretty would be walking the streets in broad daylight.

"Hellloooo ladies!"

So distracted was Torrez that he didn't see the scene unfold behind him. The princess had just given an apple to the urchin who was clearly hungry, but having not payed for it. Aladdin and the apple seller were frantically gesturing to one another, with the princess in the middle, until the seller called for the city guards.

When they ran past Torrez, the song in his head came to a screeching halt.

"Wait, whathefuk?"

He looked over his shoulder and saw several guards approaching with their swords drawn.

"Oh crap..."

* * *

 **(Meanwhile, back at the Oasis)**

All was quiet in the stillness of of the midday sun. All the 33rd soldiers had taken shelter in the shade under the camo netting by the HUMVEEs or under the palm trees of the oasis. Even Captain Pelayo had unzipped her flightsuit and tied off the sleeves around her waist. Clad in a coyote brown tank-top, she was up to her elbows in the Sea Hawk's starboard engine compartment, performing post flight maintenance.

Suddenly the stillness was broken as Mayfield's long range radio crackled to life.

 _"Ah, Misfit One Actual, this is Misfit Three, how copy?"_

Mayfield rolled over off his cot and pulled the receiver off his radio.

"Misfit Three this is Misfit One Actual Romeo, solid copy. Stand by for Misfit One Actual..."

He looked up and saw Bradley dozing against the front tire. He nudged the lieutenant's boot, which caused the young officer to wake up with a start. As his eyes focused he saw Mayfield holding up the receiver.

"Sir, Torrez is on the horn..."

Bradley checked his watch.

"S'a little early for Torrez to be doing a radio check..."

He took the receiver.

"This is Misfit One Actual, go ahead."

 _"Ah...hold on-SHIT! Where the hell are you takin' me Romeo?!"_

The lieutenant immediately tensed up and clicked the mic.

"Misfit Three, `port in, what's your sitch?"

 _"Ahh...sitch is bad, sir...long story, but Romeo ran afoul of some of the city guards, and we are currently exfil'ing to a secure location..."_

Bradley cursed.

"Shit...Misfit Three, try to find that secure location, and activate your IFF beacon, we will home in on your poz and extract you."

 _"Lima Charlie, sir! Just hurry!"_

The lieutenant stood up.

"Alright men, you heard the chatter! We got a hot extract, so gear up and get ready, we move out in five!"

Captain Pelayo must have overheard the radio conversation, as Bradley saw her approach.

"What's the malfunction, lieutenant?"

Bradley strapped on his helmet and grabbed his M4.

"Ah, Torrez got himself and Aladdin in a pickle, we got to scrub the mission and evacuate Torrez and the kid."

Pelayo wiped some of the grease off her hands with a rag and frowned.

"And how do you plan on doing that? By going in guns a' blazin'?"

Bradley shook his head.

"Negative ma'am, I don't think that will be necessary. Just a little Shock n' Awe and and while they're being shocked, we'll grab our guys and get the hell out."

The Marine shook her head.

"Yeah, `cos Shock and Awe worked so well the last time..."

But Bradley didn't hear her comment, as Connors approached him and saluted.

"Sir, the men are ready to roll."

The lieutenant returned the salute.

"Roger that."

He looked over to Pelayo.

"Ma'am, you might keep your radio on, in case we need an airborne evac."

The Marine snorted.

"Sure..why not? S'not like I have anything better to do..."

She watched as the 33rd soldiers climbed into one of the HUMVEEs. Bradley was the last to get in, on the front passenger side, and he slapped the roof as he climbed in.

"Go, Go, Go!"

Davis fired up the HUMVEE, and immediately loud rock music blared from the speakers courtesy of the truck's cassette deck.

 **(BGM: Big Gun by AC/DC)**

Pelayo watched as the HUMVEE sped off towards the city, kicking up a cloud of dust as it accelerated through the desert. She pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Grunts..."

* * *

 _(AN: Okay, first things first and first round of handwaving (that hasn't already been lampshaded by the characters) I know that by this point Aladdin has already met the princess once at the marketplace, in the story that's what gets him captured and into the clutches of the evil vizir and to the Cave of Wonders, etc etc. In this AU story, he has already met the princess once on one of her excursions into the town, the implication is that this isn't the first time she's done this, and they part ways with her revealing her true identity to Aladdin, and him not getting busted by the town's guards. How he ended up in the vizir's clutches, well that will be explained later in a chapter from the vizir's perspective. I've tried to balance things and keep everything as realistic (or rather, as realistic as a Spec Ops: The Line/Disney crossover can be) and still stay within the general tone and atmosphere of both. I mean to have more action (hence the title) in this chapter, but it ended up ballooning up to be too big, so it will be in the next chapter, which should be up in about a week or two. Until then, fav/follow/review or message and let me know what you guys think!)_


	7. A Man of Patience

_(AN: So, this chapter didn't take as long as I thought it would...I will say that I find it very fun to write these chapters, mostly because it channels the inner kid in me, the one who when watching these Disney movies when I was younger I always was imagining what it would be like if some badass character was in there to mix things up. And hopefully all the Exiles are coming together nicely, I especially enjoy writing Torrez. Honestly I had to go back and re-read the earlier chapters to make sure everything meshed. It's one of the reasons why I prefer to write out 2K word chapters versus the 5-7K word chapters, easier to keep track of the continuity._

 _I did rush this chapter out before my Crossfit class, so if it has any grammar errors or the like apologies, I will get them corrected ASAP. H_ _ope you enjoy!)_

* * *

 **(Location: ? 19:10 hours local time)**

Nighttime has fallen over a lush forest, a waning moon gives off a feeble light that barely illuminates the treetops. But, there is another source of light, this one comes from a clearing in the forest. The source of light is a large fire in the middle of a makeshift camp, surrounded by three armored vehicles arranged in a protective circle, their armed turrets pointing outwards, the gunners manning the turrets keeping a vigilant watch. Even in the pitch darkness, the gunners can see all with the aid of their NVG's, but nothing stirs beyond the treeline.

Inside the camp the soldiers of Kilo Company have finished off their evening meal of MRE's and are passing the time until lights out. Some, like Cooper and Barrigan, are cleaning their weapons and trading stories, others are sitting close to the fire either warming themselves, or in the case of SFC Barnes, reading by the firelight. Also sitting on a log by the fire is the commander of Kilo Company, Captain Pilton. He is seated opposite Barnes, and is smoking a cigarette. At first, the captain just stares into the flames, his slate-grey eyes reflecting the light and seem to glow, ignoring the rest of his surroundings.

A figure approached in the gloom, revealing himself to be none other than 1SG Dossler. He stood at attention and cleared his throat.

"Sir, I've gotten a bead on our coordinates, as best as we can tell."

Pilton hadn't moved from his spot, but nodded.

"Roger that, and thank you for lending a hand to High-Speed."

A small, tight smile creased the company 1st sergeant's cruel face.

"Think nothing of it, sir."

He set down a laminated map next to Pilton.

"I'll let you look it over at your leisure, sir."

Pilton took another drag from his cigarette.

"Roger that. Inform the men we move out at first light."

Dossler turned to leave.

"Roger that, sir."

With his 1st sergeant gone, Pilton continued to stare into the fire. Then, he spoke again.

"Did you think I had forgotten you?"

Pilton's eyes swiveled towards the audience, without breaking eye contact he took another drag from his cigarette and continued.

"Perhaps you hoped I had...and that this story would just be about some goofball privates trying to hack it in a fairy tale."

He exhaled smoke, and scoffed.

"Long's boys trying to play the hero in medieval Iraq? Don't make me laugh. We all tried that back in '03, didn't turn out well then, and it ain't gonna be any different now."

He glanced around at his men and shrugged apologetically.

"Oh, sorry, I'm afraid we're not going to make it to that particular party. S'not the author's fault, for what it's worth..."

Pilton's gaze fell on Lt. Perkins, who was pouring over a map via penlight, and the captain's expression soured.

"Ol' High-Speed's on point, which means he has no idea where we are, and has consequently led us to the ass-end of nowhere. Hell, we're so far off course we could be in the Hundred Acre Wood for all I know."

The captain finished off his cigarette and flicked it into the fire. He took the map off the log next to him, stood up, and stretched. He then bent down and picked up his weapon, a sleek FAMAS G2 bullpup assault rifle. He checked the chamber to make sure there was a round racked, then shouldered it. Pilton seemed to notice the audience's interest in his weapon.

"Oh, this? Well, this is part of a larger cache of weapons and equipment, courtesy of Kilo's new benefactor."

As he walked past some of the men he lowered his voice to a whisper.

"You remember ol' Tall, Dark and Scaly?"

Pilton paused at a large supply trailer. Normally it was towed by the second support HUMVEE, but now it was parked in the center of the camp. The soldiers of Kilo Company were pulling MRE packets and spare ammo mags out of the canvas-covered interior. The captain pointed it out.

"That's also a present of our benefactor. It has enough fuel, food and ammo to supply us for at least a month outside the wire, and rumor has it there's more where that came from."

He reached in and pulled out an MRE pouch, upon reading the label, the captain grinned.

"Chili Mac, my favorite..."

Pilton made his way back to the fire and sat down. He tore open the top of the pouch and pulled out the entree packet. As he removed a plastic utensil from the accessory packet he continued.

"I know its all processed shit, but there is something comforting about eating an MRE..."

He took a bite from the entree packet, obviously savoring the taste.

"...especially when you came from Dubai where usually tasteless protein bars were pretty much all that was on the menu..."

The captain polished off his Chili Mac entree, and tossed the empty packet into the fire.

"Well, I'd like to stay and chat, but duty calls."

He turned to Barnes, who was still reading.

"Sar'ent Barnes, inform the men lights out in ten, I want Martzen, Cooper and Perkins to relieve watch at zero dark thirty."

The scarred NCO nodded and grunted out a "roger that", then Pilton turned his attention back to the audience.

"Well, I gotta set a good example and hit the sack..."

As he turned to leave, the captain gave a conspiratorial wink.

"...But don't worry, Kilo Company will make their debut in this little tale soon enough. Until then..."

* * *

 **(streets of Agabrah, 14:46 hours local time)**

"Hey kid! Wait up!"

Torrez struggled as he tried to disentangle himself from his cloak disguise. Deciding that the jig was up, the sergeant concluded that subterfuge was no longer a priority and tossed the cloak and turban aside. Now, the main priority was keeping up with Romeo and his princess girlfriend. As he ran, Torrez's radio crackled to life.

 _"Misfit Three this is Misfit One Actual Romeo, how copy?"_

He secured his UMP-45 and keyed the mic on his radio.

"Misfit One Actual Romeo this is Misfit Three, go ahead."

He heard Mayfield's voice come through the static.

 _"...be advised we are inbound, estimated ETA five mikes...Establishing RV point at coordinates -44.933 by 36.4666..."_

Torrez stopped and pulled out a laminated map from the bellows pocket of his ACU's. He scanned over it briefly until he found the coordinates.

"Solid copy Misfit One Actual Romeo I have the coordinates pegged, will RV in five mikes..."

He looked up and saw a familiar couple running across the rooftops.

"Shit, how the fuck did they get up there?"

 _"Say again Misfit Three did not copy your last..."_

"Ah, better make that ten mikes...I gotta catch up with Aladdin and his girlfriend. Will check in when we're close to rally point. Misfit Three out..."

 **(BGM: Aladdin OST, One Jump Ahead)**

Torrez secured his radio and map, then paused. He swore he could hear music and singing, and to him it was very familiar. He spoke up to nobody in particular.

"Am I the only one who can hear music playing?"

He paused and saw a bystander who was shoveling manure into a cart. The man looked up at Torrez, eyed his ACU's and plate carrier, then shrugged indifferently. Torrez chuckled.

"Yeah, thanks bud."

The sergeant then heard another voice from the alleyway bark out.

"Look, they went that way!"

Torrez cursed and started clambering up a stack of barrels, almost losing his balance in the process. One of the barrels tipped as the sergeant regained his balance and bounded up to the rooftops, causing an avalanche that temporarily halted the guards. As he climbed onto the roof Torrez saw Aladdin and the princess had managed to vault or jump to the next rooftop.

"Hey! How did you guys get over there? A flying carpet?"

The young thief grinned and waved Torrez over.

"Just jump, you'll be fine!"

The sergeant peered over the edge and quickly regretted it. He called back.

"Ah, I'm gonna take 'Shit that Ain't Happening' for $500, Alex Trebek..."

Torrez saw the blank look that Aladdin and the princess were giving him, so he continued.

"Means fuck no, kid. There's no way a human can make that jump..."

"Come on, do you trust me?"

The soldier shook his head.

"Ah...no."

The princess took a step forward.

"Perhaps the _giaour_ is afraid..."

She folded her arms.

"If you're too frightened to do what the boy and I can do, that is understandable..."

Torrez had a retort on the tip of his tongue, but then he heard more cursing as the guards were trying to climb to the roof as well. That made up his mind.

"Okay kid, you win...here goes nothing!"

He took a few steps back, then took off in a full run, wishing he had qualified better at both the 100 yard dash and the running jump part of boot camp.

* * *

 **(Meanwhile)**

Lt. Bradley jerked the steering wheel, causing the HUMVEE to swerve. They had narrowly avoided hitting yet another caravan, as they got closer to the city there was more and more foot traffic, which complicated things. The lieutenant mashed down on the horn, causing a shrill beep that if anything just caused the locals to panic even more. He cursed.

"Shit! At this rate we'll never make it to Torrez's rally point!"

His medic, PVT. Davis, lowered his binoculars.

"Sir, I've got more bad news...apparently our little ruckus has attracted the attention of the city guards..."

Bradley squinted against the glare on the windshield. Sure enough, the panicking civilians were rushing towards the city gates, and the guards were in the process and pushing them back and closing the gates.

"Fuck! We don't have time for this shit!"

He turned to Davis.

"Pri'at, when we get close I want you to make us an opening!"

Davis grinned.

"Roger that!"

The medic pushed open the armored turret hatch and pulled himself up. As they got closer to the gate Davis called down into the cabin.

"Mayfield, gimme the SCAR!"

His fellow soldier handed Davis his assault rifle, and he loaded an M433 grenade into the underslung launcher tube. He then leveled his weapon at the gate, raising it slightly to compensate for drift. At the last minute he yelled out.

"Grenade out!"

With a loud _THUMP!_ he fired, and the grenade found its mark. The city gates of Agabrah were made of heavy timber with solid wrought-iron fasteners and reinforced with steel bands. It was designed to withstand any siege and even direct hits from a battering ram. But, its designers had not taken into account the destructive effects of a 40mm high-explosive anti-tank grenade. Designed to penetrate tank armor, it made short work of the gates, as they were blown to splinters by the explosion.

The dust had barely settled when the Exile's HUMVEE charged through the ruined gate, smashing aside the fragments and barreling into the streets of Agabrah. Lt. Bradley shook his head.

"Well, we might have just started a war, I sure as hell hope Torrez is doing better!"

* * *

Sgt. Torrez was not having a good day. First, he undershot the rooftop by a foot, landing hard against the hardened clay wall. As the sergeant slid down the side of the building he was sure that something popped or broke inside him. Then he had fallen through a window and had fallen into someone's boudior. Then, to his horror Torrez found the room's owner, or rather she found him.

It took him another five minutes to disentangle himself from the large female, who was so fat and covered in makeup he was certain that she was some private's dependa. Finally he had made it out the door and had climbed up to the rooftops, only to find both Aladdin and the princess gone.

"Motherfucker!"

As he was trying to figure out in which direction the two love birds went off to, his radio crackled to life again.

 _"Misfit Three, this is Misfit Two how copy?"_

Torrez grinned and pulled out his radio.

"S'wrong, Connors? Is the loot too busy to talk to me in person?"

As if to respond Torrez heard an explosion, and the distinctive clatter of automatic gunfire echoing in the distance. To his right he saw a plume of black smoke curl upwards. He heard Connors' voice come through the static.

 _"Ah, Misfit Three, be advised, we've been bogged down by some sort of trench trap, you're gonna hafta hoof it to us...we're about five clicks from your position..."_

The sergeant nodded.

"Roger that, be advised, I'll home in on the smoke and the noise...I gotta round up Romeo and his squeeze, will be there ASAP..."

He got a squawk as a response, and pocketed his radio. Torrez pulled out his binocs and scanned the rooftops, just in time to see movement at his two o'clock. He zoomed in, and was rewarded by seeing two familiar figures climbing into the attic of an abandoned building. He lowered his binocs and sighed.

"Shit, this fairy tale's getting more and more fucked by the minute..."

* * *

 **(Meanwhile)**

Aladdin took a step back. There were several heavily armed men who were waiting in his favorite hiding place. It was as if they knew where to look. And worse, they were wearing the livery of the Royal Palace. He glanced involuntarily at the princess, doubtlessly they were looking for her. He tried shielding her from them, but to no avail. The head guard, a massive man with a muscular trunk and bulging arms the size of tree trunks, gave a low bow.

"A thousand apologies, for intruding, your majesty."

The princess raised her chin defiantly.

"Tell me, oh overzealous Captain of the Guards, did my father send you?"

The man gave another bow.

"You speak the truth, your majesty. Your father, his highness Sultan Harun al-Rashid, the Just and Upright, Beloved by Allah and all, ruler of Agabrah, was worried about you."

She glanced over and saw some of the guards moving towards Aladdin and protested.

"Wait! The boy had nothing to do with this! We just met on the streets, he has no idea who I am."

The warrior shook his head apologetically.

"It pains me to say this knowing that it will upset you, your majesty, but one, he now knows who you are, and that secret cannot get out. And plus-" he gave Aladdin a baleful glare, "-this one is a known thief and must be taken in for questioning."

Just then the door swung open, surprising everyone, including the guards. Torrez's eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness, and he removed his Oakleys.

"Oh shit..."

The Captain of the Guards stared at the soldier as if he were an apparition. Quick as lightening, Torrez smoothly launched into a casual conversation.

"Okay, check it out...I was chasin' down this punk kid, y'see, he lifted my wallet..."

He saw that the guards closest to him was staring at his uniform and his slung weapon.

"Hey, I'm from out of town, okay? Just passin' through and wanted to pick up some souvenirs for the missus..."

Then, at the most inopportune moment, his radio crackled to life.

 _"Misfit Three, where the fuck are you?! We're getting bogged down here!"_

All of the guards jumped, with at least one of them averting his eyes and muttering about 'black magic'. Torrez discretely pulled out his radio and whispered into the mic.

"Now's not a good time...I'll check back!"

He switched off his radio, then he saw one of the guards speak up.

"He's one of them! One my fellow guards said there were _giaours_ who rammed through the city gate with explosive sorcery!"

Torrez saw the sitch was rapidly deteriorating.

"Y'know what? I'm not even tripping on him taking my wallet. Only had four bucks in it anyways..."

He slowly edged towards the doorway, still talking.

"...Tell you what, if you happen to find it, just mail it back to me...name's Sergeant Omar Torrez, that's with two 'r's."

He turned to go, only to find his way blocked by a couple of the guards.

"Ah, big guy? Can you tell Tweedle Dumb and Dumber here to move? I gotta pop smoke."

The Captain of the Guard gave Torrez an evil smile.

"If it is true that you are part of this invading force, then the Vizir will want to interrogate you himself, to unlock the secrets of your sorcery."

One of the guards put a meaty hand on Torrez's shoulder, and the soldier panicked. On reflex he clubbed the man with the butt of his UMP-45 and fired off a burst, causing one of the guards to crumple to the ground. The Captain and his guards, as well as the princess stared in horror at Torrez's handiwork, but the soldier took advantage of the distraction and started to leave. He called back to Aladdin.

"C'mon, Romeo! Let's go!"

As the young thief started to leave, the princess glared at him.

"Why are you leaving with this foreigner?!"

Torrez shrugged.

"Hey, language, missy! And for the record I don't think Romeo wants to spend the rest of the week in a dungeon."

Aladdin nodded.

"Yes, I'm sorry my love, but I have to leave..."

"But why?"

"Because I made a promise to them...and they made me a promise. Without them I cannot hope to recover the treasure."

The princess shook her head angrily.

"Treasure?! Is that all you can think of right now?"

"I need that treasure, otherwise I'm just a street rat, and will always be one!"

"But you're more than that, Aladdin!"

The young thief snorted.

"Easy words coming from someone who's never had to fight for their next meal!"

"What are you insinuating, insolent fool!?"

Torrez and the guards were watching the lover's quarrel with rapt attention, their own quarrels completely forgotten. The soldier nudged one of the guards.

"Man, now Romeo's put his foot in it...that's gonna cost him at least a dozen roses and a diamond necklace."

The guard snickered, nodding in agreement. Then, suddenly both Torrez and the guard realized what was going on. Fortunately the sergeant was quicker on his feet. He grabbed the still bickering Aladdin and shoved him out the door. He then raised his UMP-45.

"Okay you primitive screwheads, lissen up! This here is my boomstick! And it'll kill any and all of ya if you so much as breaths the wrong way!"

He backed towards the door.

"Now, I ain't here to invade your city, or cause any shit, but I ain't going to no dungeon..."

He saw them frozen to the spot.

"Okay bye..."

Torrez rushed out the door.

 **(BGM: Black Hawk Down OST: Barra Barra, Rachid Taha)**

The sergeant took cover in an alleyway. He peered out and saw the coast was clear, for now. Torrez took that moment to apologize.

"Sorry kid, but we didn't have time to discuss it in a committee..."

He saw some of the Royal Guards spill out of the opening and pulled the young thief deeper into cover.

"I'm gonna fire, and when I do, I want you to run as fast as you can to that next alleyway, got it?"

The boy nodded, so Torrez pulled himself out of cover and leveled his weapon.

"Firing!"

He let off a burst that caused the guards to scatter. As Torrez fired Aladdin broke off into a full sprint. The sergeant glanced over his shoulder and saw the youth had taken cover, so he dropped an empty magazine and turned to follow.

And so unfolded a familiar pattern; Torrez and Aladdin would sprint to an alleyway, until the guards caught up to them, the sergeant would open fire, giving them enough time to escape, until the next street.

Finally, Torrez took cover behind an empty fruit stall. He patted the ammo pouches on his vest, and found that he was out of spares. He pushed the release button on the receiver and dropped his last mag to do an ammo check. Ten rounds. The young thief Aladdin dropped beside him, huffing and out of breath.

"C'mon, Romeo! Aren'cha used to being chased?"

The young man nodded breathlessly.

"Yes, _effendi_ , but not by as many guards!"

Torrez was about to respond when his radio went off.

 _"Misfit Three, this is Misfit Two, `port in, what's your status?"_

He keyed the mic.

"Status is fucked, Connors! I'm running low on ammo and I have no idea where the fuck we are..."

He heard Connors respond.

 _"Ah, Misfit Three stand by I could have sworn I heard your gunfire, you have to be close. Do me a favor and pop smoke."_

Torrez looked over and saw some of the guards approaching.

"I can do that...it'll also give us a smokescreen..."

He pulled out a cylindrical grenade from his assault vest, yanked off the pin and tossed it out into the open. As soon as the grenade hit the ground it started spewing out thick white smoke. Immediately Connors' voice spoke up again on the radio.

 _"Roger that, Misfit Three I have a visual on your smoke...good news, you're quite literally just two blocks away...if you approach on a heading of due east you'll run right into us..."_

Torrez nodded, and stood up. Just as he was about to say something a shape bounded out of the smoke, revealing a large guard. He let out a sadistic sneer and raised his meter-long scimitar overhead. Without thinking Torrez raised his weapon and fired, the .45 ACP bullets punched through the guard's thin mail armor and killed him instantly. But the sergeant had no time to gloat, he was now out of ammo. He turned to Aladdin.

"We gotta make a break for it, only this time I'm out of ammo for my boomstick..."

The boy nodded, but then to Torrez's surprise bent down and picked up the dead guard's sword.

"You retreat, I will cover you!"

The sergeant shook his head.

"That's a negative, kid..."

But the youth interrupted him.

"...You did the same for me, _effendi_! I will return the favor, just remember our bargain!"

Realizing that there was no way of dissuading the boy, Torrez just nodded.

"Roger that, just don't be a hero."

Aladdin gave the soldier a friendly wave.

"Not to worry, I will be right on your heels, _effendi_!"

Torrez then took off running through the alleyway, across a street and into another side-street. As he ran the sound of gunfire grew louder, and for a moment he was getting more flashbacks to his time in Baghdad. Sure enough, up ahead was the familiar sight of their HUMVEE, although it was stuck in some sort of trap. PVT. Davis and PFC Mayfield were taking cover behind the truck, firing on heavily armed men that were trying to advance.

The sergeant noted that these men, although wearing similar armor to the Royal Guard that accosted him and Aladdin, they did not have the royal livery. Which meant they were mercenaries, or worse. His musings were interrupted by Bradley's voice shouting at him.

"Torrez! Take cover!"

He ducked behind an overturned cart. Also crouched in cover was Lt. Bradley and SSG Connors.

"Hey, El-tee! Long time no see!"

But his CO was in no mood for jokes. Bradley's face was flushed, and he glared at Torrez.

"The fuck's wrong with you, sar'ent?! What part of low-profile don't you understand?"

The lieutenant looked around.

"Speaking of which, where's Aladdin?"

Torrez glanced back at the side-street. There was no sign of the youth.

"Aw shit! He's still back there!"

"What?!"

"Hey, I was out of ammo, and he volunteered to cover my retreat!"

"Fine, you march your skinny ass back there and retrieve him!"

Torrez had an angry retort on the tip of his tongue, but Connors beat him to it.

"Save it, Torrez."

He turned to Bradley.

"I'll go, sir. I've still got some buckshot in this squirrel gun."

The lieutenant frowned, but finally nodded.

"Fine, but no heroics. Get him and get back here."

He turned and shouted out the order.

"Davis, Mayfield! Provide covering fire!"

As both privates opened up, Connors stood up, his combat shotgun leveled.

"I'm going into the killzone, cover me!"

Bradley watched as Connors bolted for the side street. Then he heard Davis shout out.

"Changing mags! Enemy QRF coming up on the rear!"

The lieutenant nodded, then shouted into his radio.

"Misfit Two, if you do not have eyes on the package fall back, enemy QRF is trying to outflank!"

His radio crackled to life and SSG Connors' voice came through the static.

 _"Misfit One Actual, this is Misfit Two, I have the package, we hit the target early...be advised there are crossbowmen in the field..."_

The lieutenant grinned and keyed the mic.

"Roger that, Misfit Two just get your ass back here!"

Bradley looked up and hollered over to Mayfield.

"Misfit Two is inbound, check your fire, check your fire!"

He saw more of the enemy getting closer, and called over to Mayfield again.

"Better get Deadly on the horn, private. Shit's gonna get hairy here in a bit!"

Mayfield hollered back a 'Lima Charlie', and Bradley heard Torrez chuckle.

"Still think it was a good idea to take that detour, El-Tee?"

Bradley shook his head.

"As big of a mess as you made of this sergeant, you're making me question all of my life decisions..."

He looked up and saw SSG Connors appear from the side-street entrance. He had the youth slung over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, and sprinted back into cover. As he set Aladdin down, the big sergeant took a ragged breath.

"Damn, for a scrawny little runt that kid weighs a ton..."

Bradley looked over the youth. He was unconscious, his face was covered blood, the scalp wound wasn't deep, but it bled plenty before it had a chance to congeal. The young street thief also had a long cut across his back. He looked over to Connors, who shrugged.

"Kid tried to go all Errol Flynn on one of the guards, with predictable results..."

The lieutenant nodded and looked over to where Davis and Mayfield were.

"Medic! Davis, get over here!"

PVT Davis broke formation and made his way to the rear. He knelt beside Aladdin and unvelcro'd a small pack off his thigh.

"Patching this kid up is becoming a full-time job, sir..."

He unzipped the medpack, and pulled out a pressure bandage. He heard Bradley speak up.

"Get him patched up enough so we can exfil..."

He shouted over to Mayfield.

"Private! You got Deadly yet?"

The private shook his head, so Bradley checked the field. He heard Connors' voice beside him.

"Well loot? How bad is it?"

Bradley lowered his binocs.

"Well, every time those thugs try to rush us, we pick `em off."

He looked up at the rooftops overhead.

"But those crossbowmen are moving in cover, and they'll have us outflanked before too much longer."

He glanced down at his M4.

I'm down to my last full mag, Davis has half a magazine left on his SCAR-H, Mayfield has two more mags for his rifle, but it'll be useless in close combat."

Connors looked down at his M1014 shotgun.

"An' I used up my last three shells rescuing Romeo..."

He looked over to Torrez.

"How about you?"

Torrez shrugged sheepishly.

"Ah sorry man, I burned up all my UMP-45 ammo fleeing the guards with Romeo there."

He held up his M9.

"I do have three magazines for this little pea-shooter!"

Then the sergeant's radio crackled to life.

 _"To the friendly IFF this is Private First Class Pete Gobbi of the Damned 33rd, how copy?"_

Torrez grinned as he responded.

"Well, shit Pete Gobbi as I live and breathe! Good to hear a friendly voice, where the fuck did you come from?"

He heard Gobbi chuckle.

 _"Ah, you could say I appeared out of thin air...I'm on the rooftops overlooking beaucoup badguys with crossbows...permission to engage."_

The sergeant glanced over to Bradley, who nodded. Torrez keyed the mic.

"Roger that, permission granted consider yourself cleared hot. You just saved our bacon..."

He paused.

"Be advised, we have a chopper inbound for extract, I am relaying rally point coordinates..."

Gobbi's voice came through the static.

 _"Roger that, as soon as these guys are toast I will exfil to the rally point...Gobbi out!"_

Bradley, in spite of the situation. Another member of the 33rd showed up and pulled their asses out of the fire. Maybe the sitch wasn't so fucked, after all. There was a nagging thought in the back of the lieutenant's head; this PFC Gobbi had sided with Konrad during the Mutiny, the same naysayer voice was questioning the private's loyalties and motivations.

His musings were interrupted by Mayfield, who ran up to him.

"Sir, I've got Deadly on the horn!"

The lieutenant nodded and took the radio handset from Mayfield. He clicked the receiver.

"Deadly, Deadly, this is Misfit One Actual, what is your ETA?"

A female voice came through the static.

 _"Misfit One Actual this is Deadly, be advised I'm still getting this helo up in the air, ETA is about ten mikes."_

Bradley cursed, and he must have not released the receiver because their pilot's voice spoke up again.

 _"Ah, sorry Misfit One Actual, but your Charlie-Foxtrot kinda caught me off-guard. I'll try to speed shit up, but this isn't the movies, my 'bird isn't a Volkswagen that you can just start up and drive..."_

The young officer nodded.

"Lima Charlie, Deadly. We'll try and hold out until then. Be advised, we have a sizeable enemy QRF closing in trying to outflank our poz, with a friendly drawing their fire. Once we are cleared we will be proceeding to secondary extract point."

 _"Understood, how many asses am I pulling out of the fire?"_

Bradley grinned, then glanced back at his men.

"Total number is six tac's; five sierras, one package, package will need medical attention. Friendly confirmed that he will RV at the rally point, this will be a hot extract!"

 _"Roger that. Just let me know if you need help, this 'bird's doesn't have the fangs that my Cobra gunship had, but it does still have some teeth..."_

Bradley glanced up at his two NCO's.

"Connors, Torrez, I want you to help transport the package to the secondary extract. Davis, Mayfield and I will cover your exfil, and we'll follow as soon as Gobbi keeps those fuckers distracted."

SSG Connors nodded up at the rooftops.

"What about the pri'at?"

The young officer shrugged.

"PFC Gobbi said he had plenty of ammo and a target rich environment. He assured me he'll be able to make it to the rally point."

"And if he doesn't?" Torrez pressed.

Bradley glanced back at the deserted street turned charnel house.

"Then the private's on his own. Remember, we don't know where his loyalties lie. As I recall, he sided with Konrad and his lot, which make him one of the 'Damned.'"

He saw the look in Connors' eyes, so Bradley quickly added.

"..But, if shit get's hairy then I'll have Deadly extract him from the rooftops..."

That seemed to satisfy both Connors and Torrez, they both shouldered their weapons and picked up the unconscious teen-aged thief. They slowly made their way through the street, occasionally firing back to slow down their attackers. Bradley could hear the distinctive chopping sound of an approaching helicopter and called out.

"Deadly is en route! We gotta make the rally point!"

As they paused to take cover at a wide alcove in the street Bradley heard Mayfield fire his SCAR-H, then call out.

"I'm out! Switching to sidearm!"

The private dropped his automatic weapon, letting it dangle on its sling, then unholstered and raised his M9, firing off double-tapping shots. But the guards seemed to have sensed the fact that the soldiers had run out of ammunition for their automatic weapons, as more of them appeared out of alleyways and side-streets. Then Connors called out.

"I'm out too!"

Bradley cursed and raised his M4, firing off single shots at the center of the mass of guards. As he covered their retreat, he heard Connors shout.

"More tangos, twelve o'clock!"

The lieutenant turned and the sight made his heart sink. He saw more heavily armed guards that had appeared and were blocking path. They were cut off. Quickly he motioned over to Mayfield.

"Get Deadly on the horn and let `er know we're cut off!"

Mayfield hastily pulled out the handset and spoke into the receiver.

"Deadly, Deadly this is Misfit One Actual Romeo, we're cut off and out of ammo, secondary extract is burned, repeat secondary extract is burned!"

He heard Pelayo give an exasperated snort.

 _"Fuck! I can see that, jeezus you guys got yourselves in a real shitstorm...Y'know what? Screw this shit, Misfit One Actual stand by, I'll make an LZ..."_

In the cockpit Captain Pelayo could see the large crowd of enemy combatants converging on Bradley's position. She flipped down the visor on her crash helmet and toggled a few switches by the multifunction screen on the instrument cluster. Outside, the bulbous FLIR turret mounted on the Sea Hawk's nose flicked to life, its electric eye darting back and forth, mimicking the tracking movements that Pelayo was doing via remote.

Satisfied, the Marine set the Sea Hawk to a hover, then flicked another switch, activating the Navy helo's Rapid Airborne Mine Clearance System, or RAMICS. As a Marine pilot she had been debriefed on and even trained on the experimental weapons platform, but it never made it into mass production, let alone into the Marine Corps arsenal. Bluntly put, it was a massive 30mm autocannon mounted off the external pylons of the Sea Hawk, utilizing the Mk 248 Mod 1 Armor-Piercing Fin-Stabilized Discarding-Sabot Tracer round, the RAMICS was intended to target and neutralize mines at relatively shallow depths.

But, at point-blank range, it was also a very effective close-air support weapon.

As it tracked the inbound enemy QRF, it reminded Pelayo of the M129 40mm grenade launcher on her Cobra gunship. From her scope she moved the targeting reticle over the largest mass of the enemy. When she pulled the trigger there was a slight lag from the BRATATATAT of the autocannon firing to the ground exploding around the enemy force.

Sure enough, it had the desired effect. Whereas before the thirty odd heavily armed swordsmen were advancing on Bradley's position, once the shells started detonating around them the enemy force scattered. Pelayo targeted a few stragglers, then moved the reticle over to the stricken HUMVEE. She heard Bradley's voice in her headset.

 _"Shit! That was awesome Deadly! Keep it up, those bastards are running scared!"_

"Good to know this RAMICS works as close-air support...speaking of which, you real attached to that HUMVEE transport?"

 _"Negative, take it out if it will buy us enough time to get aboard."_

"Roger that, stand by and keep your heads down."

She pulled the trigger, and after a few bursts her scope went white as the HUMVEE exploded in a shower of sparks and shrapnel. Satisfied, she spoke into her mic.

"Alright gentlemen, you're good to go, I'm coming down."

* * *

Bradley watched as the Sea Hawk slowly maneuvered until it was hovering less than a hundred feet off the ground, then slowly lowered to the exact center of the wide city street. The prop wash kicked up a choking amount of dust, any of the guards that were still left fled from the sight of the military helicopter descending. When its wheels kissed the ground Mayfield pulled up his scarf and ran up to the chopper. He pulled on the handle and slid open the side door.

"Everyone in!"

Bradley and Davis took up defensive positions by the door as Connors and Torrez carried Aladdin into the chopper's cabin. Once the package was secured the lieutenant and the medic ran in, then Mayfield jumped in and pounded on the airframe.

"Let's go!"

As the chopper started to rise up, Davis shouted over to Bradley.

"What about Gobbi, sir?"

The lieutenant leaned in so he could be heard.

"We're supposed to rendezvous at the tertiary extract point..."

He pulled out his radio.

"Speaking of which."

The lieutenant switched channels on his radio and keyed the mic.

"Gobbi this is Misfit- I mean this is Lt. Bradley, we are in the air and en route to the rally point, what is your sitch?"

There was nothing, then Bradley repeated.

"Gobbi, this is Lt. Bradley callsign Misfit One Actual, how copy?"

But only static greeted him. All the soldiers had questioning looks on their faces, but it was Torrez who finally spoke up.

"Shit, what the fuck happened to the private?"

* * *

 _(AN: Hehehehe, what indeed? Well, Gobbi decided to play the hero, and now he's gonna find out what happens to those who play the hero in a Disney story..._

 _Apologies for any errors or plot holes, like I said I'll fix `em as soon as possible._

 _Next chapter should be up within the next week, maybe even by the weekend. Truth be told it was one of the first chapters I wrote when I was conceptualizing this story, so it's like 80% done. Anyways, hopefully you guys have found the whole Black Hawk Down meets Disney entertaining, and if you do find it fun, remember this is only the training mission. The actual 'campaign' story, so to speak, will begin after this mission is wrapped up, and it will be a doozy. Until then, stay tuned!)_


	8. Close Combat Carnage

**_Bio Profile: The Damned 33rd_**

The 33rd Mobile Infantry Battalion, also known as 'The Damned 33rd', had been in existence since the 1st World War, where it participated in the 2nd Battle of the Somme, and earning its first battle honors. It further saw action in World War II where, contrary to the popular news reports, it was the 33rd that broke the siege of Bastogne, and paved the way for General Patton's 3rd Armored Division to turn the tide in the Battle of the Bulge. It was rumored that General von Lüttwitz, when he heard of the successful breaking of the siege, cursed the luck of the Americans and "those damned 33rd," earning the Damned 33rd its nickname.

The 33rd continued to see action in Korea, Vietnam and even in the 80's with the Cold War. But it was during Operation Enduring Freedom and Operation Iraqi Freedom where the 'Damned 33rd' became the most decorated unit during the War on Terror. During the Coalition's occupation of Iraq the 33rd provided relief and support to the Marine contingent which was tasked with retaking Fallujah in April of 2004. During that battle, which would have otherwise resulting in an operational failure and black eye for the Coalition Forces, the 'Damned 33rd' once again helped turn the tide of battle, earning the battalion a whopping 134 battle honors.

In Afghanistan the 'Damned 33rd' was no less distinguished. In March of 2005 during the 1st Siege of Kabul, Konrad helped rescue a platoon of Special Forces operators stranded outside the city and cut off. Braving incoming enemy fire, then LTC Konrad led elements of the 33rd on a rescue mission and helped evacuate the surviving soldiers, Konrad also personally carried three badly wounded operators, including then 2nd Lt. Martin Walker, to an evac chopper. He would later go on to receive the Congressional Medal of Honor for it.

The 'Damned 33rd' would also undergo another significant change in late 2005, when an IED attack and insurgent ambush almost decimated the 33rd's command squad. Col. Harvie, then commander of the 33rd, was killed outright when his HUMVEE transport was targeted by several RPG's. Several key company commanders were also seriously injured in the attack, but LTC Konrad once again rallied the survivors and they routed the attackers, then withdrew, leaving no one behind. For his bravery Konrad was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross, a Purple Heart, and a promotion to Colonel as well as command of the 'Damned 33rd'.

After the 2008 election John Kerry was elected president, and in late 2009 the President made good on his campaign promises of withdrawing troops from Iraq and Afghanistan. Things took a turn for the worst in Afghanistan in 2010 and 2011 as the enemy saw an opportunity and took it. As the troops withdrew from various provinces, the Taliban-backed Islamic Caliphate slowly took over. In December of 2011, mere weeks after most major combat operations were suspended and FOB's were closed, the insurgents led their own surge, taking over vast swaths of Afghanistan, the Afghan National Army either withdrew, or worse, deserted and joined the insurgency.

Kabul held out, mostly because of the local forces being bolstered by the 'Damned 33rd', but eventually even they had to evacuate Afghanistan under orders in early January of 2012. Colonel Konrad felt personally responsible for the loss of Kabul, and felt it was a black mark on the 'Damned 33rd's reputation. When the 33rd was re-routed to Dubai because of the sandstorms, Konrad saw an opportunity, in saving the abandoned civilian population he felt that this a chance at redemption, for him and the 33rd. Sadly, it turned out to be his and the 33rd's damnation, and ultimate destruction at the hands of Captain Martin Walker in late June of 2012.

* * *

 **Units within the Damned 33rd:**

The 33rd was revolutionary within the U.S. Army as being a 'combined' battalion, comprised of infantry, mechanized and air units:

Headquarters Company (Exiles)- the staff and support element for the rest of the unit. Includes the 33rd's senior leadership, logistics, operations, planning, intelligence, and communications cells, liaisons, HUMINT and CI teams, mechanics, and other miscellaneous troops. 170 men. Almost all of Captain John Foley's men join the mutiny, including most of the senior staff. The loss of the unit's command and support structure left Konrad and The Damned reeling in the first months of the Mutiny.

Alpha Company (Damned)- standard motorized rifle company, 180 soldiers. The vast bulk of Alpha Company remained loyal to Konrad.

Bravo Company (Exiles)- Large motorized rifle company, includes the Ground Contingent headquarters, HUMINT, and recon teams. 250 soldiers. Captain Ivan Wright's men, hit hard during the failed Evac, allied with Long from the beginning.

Charlie Company (Split)- mortar, anti-air, and anti-tank weapons company. 120 soldiers. About half of Charlie's soldiers and equipment go to each side during the Mutiny.

Hotel Company (Damned) - specializes in air assault tactics. 160 soldiers. With some notable exceptions, Hotel Company stayed loyal to Konrad.

India Company (Exiles) - standard motorized rifle company, 180 soldiers. Captain George Glynn and almost his entire company are among the first to join the Mutiny.

Juliet Company (Split) - Snipers, Intelligence, Forward Observers, and long range surveillance. The smallest company at only 80 soldiers. Juliet split 60-40 in favor of The Damned.

Kilo Company (Damned) - specialized in air assault tactics, same as Hotel. 150 soldiers. Bill Pilton's men sparked the Mutiny with their attack on the Exiles at the airport, and were slaughtered nearly to a man. After the Mutiny remnants of Kilo were folded into Alpha.

65th Filed Medical Company (Split) - attached to the 33rd out of Joint Base Lewis-McChord. 130 soldiers, split in flavor of the Exiles.

Delta Company (Split) - Home of the 33rd's Black Hawk helicopters, the aviation contingent headquarters, and the aviation mechanics and maintenance group. 26 helicopters, 315 soldiers. Split in favor of the Damned.

Echo Company (Split) - Echo Company's 18 AH-6A Little Bird gunships provide the 33rd with their most potent offensive punch. 140 soldiers. Split in favor of the Damned.

Fox Company (Split) - The smallest of the aviation companies, Fox has 6 OH-58 Kiowa recon helicopters and 4 IMH-6 Little Birds, equipped for surveillance and intelligence collection. A SIGINT team and analytical cell are also organic. 90 soldiers. Split nearly down the middle.

Factions of the 33rd during the Mutiny:

"The Exiles" - The faction of the 33rd that turned against Colonel John Konrad. Led by Battalion XO, Lieutenant Colonel David Long. At their peak, the Exiles comprised a little more than a third of the 33rd's total strength. The Exiles manage to capture about half of Dubai in the early months of the Mutiny, but suffered a devastating defeat while attempting to capture the city's water supply at the Aquatic Colosseum. They were driven back and took refuge at Dubai International Airport, where they fought the final battle with the Damned and lost. Those Exiles not killed in battle or rounded up and executed soon after scatter and flee into the surrounding desert.

"The Damned" - The part of the unit that remains loyal to battalion commander, Colonel John Konrad. The Damned comprised about 2/3 of the 33rd's total remaining strength. After suffering a series of early disasters, the Damned rally and take back much of the territory they lost in the early months of the Mutiny. An attempt by the Exiles to capture the city's water supply is beaten back with terrible losses to both sides, but the Damned are able to use their superior numbers and air capabilities to overwhelm the remaining Exiles at the airport. After the end of the Mutiny, the execution of the surviving Exile leaders, and Konrad's suicide, the remnants of the Damned are formed into something resembling a cohesive unit by Major Gavin and the Battalion Sergeant Major Wolfe.

* * *

 _AN: I had meant to get the Damned 33rd's bio out earlier, but it was a victim of my chromebook's untimely death a few chapters back. Long story short, I was able to retrieve it on a portable hard drive, and put it back together. I hope the bio profiles aren't too much of a distraction..._

 _Well, I hoped to have this out earlier this week, as an April Fool's joke, but the joke was on me...work got busy and life went crazy. Hopefully all you find this story as entertaining to read as I do writing it. As before I did rush this out, so I would like to apologize for any grammatical errors, blah-blah-blah, you know the drill. Now we get to see this mission from a different perspective, as well as seeing the after-effects of all the havoc the Exiles have caused in Agabrah...Enjoy!)_

* * *

"Please, your majesty, we must hurry!"

The princess had paused in the street, looking back in the direction where the young thief and the odd foreigner had fled. She then turned her attention back to Fareed, the Captain of the Royal Guards, who was trying to urge her on, as respectfully as possible. Her gaze fell on several of the Royal Guards who were limping and supporting one another. They were wounded by the _giaour_ 's profane weapon, apparently it was akin to a crossbow but shot small projectiles capable of penetrating any armor. Her thoughts went back to the foreigner named Torrez, who just earlier was so friendly to her and Aladdin, and wondered how such a person could be capable of such cruelty.

Her musings were interrupted by Fareed's words reaching her ears.

"...Princess, it isn't safe on the streets anymore..."

She looked up at the Captain of the Guard, the massive man's swarthy brow was beaded with sweat, and his dark features pale with fear.

"...the City Guards are scattered or dead at the hands of those invading _giaours_ , if any brigands or criminals find out that royalty is out in the open..."

He stopped and shuddered.

"I know that the boy meant something to you, but-"

Fareed was cut short by the princess's dismissive wave of her hand.

"That street rat is nothing to me, Captain. I thought he was different, a diamond in the rough, but the fact that he lusts for gold and consorts with invading foreigners means he's no better than any common brigand..."

One of the still unwounded Guards approached.

"This street is clear, if we continue it will lead us to the Palace!"

Fareed nodded, and escorted the princess, as the remainder of his contingent formed up the rear guard. As they made their way through the deserted street, the ground rumbled as a loud explosion rocked the city. Fareed and the princess turned, in the distance they saw a large cloud black smoke billowing from the city's center. Then, something caught the Captain's eye, and one of his subordinates shouted.

"Allah save us! It's the _Ḍaḥḥāk_!"

The Captain of the Royal Guards stared in the direction that his subordinate was pointing. Through the haze of the smoke he could make out a shape, something hovering over the the rooftops. As the smoke cleared and his vision focused, the head guard's blood froze. It was most certainly a dragon, or some sort of flying demon, it had a wide grey body that ended in a blunt snout, and a long tail. Fire spewed from the creature, and in its wake more explosions blossomed outwards, creating more clouds of choking black smoke.

These _giaours_ weren't just invaders, Fareed thought, they must be devil-worshippers and necromancers to be able to summon such fell creatures. He nodded to his point guard.

"Hurry! These foreigners are not to be trifled with."

His second-in-command, Hamid, spoke as they crossed another deserted.

"It's a shame. I kind of liked the _giaour_ named Torrez."

He saw the dirty look his Captain was giving him and shrugged.

"What? He was a funny man, I find it hard to believe he was an evil man or a sorcerer."

Hamid yelped as he felt a large hand cuff the back of his head. He rubbed the sore spot and glanced up at his captain, who was glaring down at him.

"Be silent, fool, or I'll put an arrow in your knee!"

The guard had another wisecrack on the tip of his tongue when he heard a chocked scream. Fareed instinctively pulled the princess behind him, and Hamid drew his sword. Both saw the lead guard crumple to the ground, dead from two arrow bolts to the neck. Several heavily armed men, wearing similar armor to the Royal Guards own, but without any livery, appeared out of side streets. The Captain of the Guards turned, and saw that more men advanced from behind. Two of his wounded guards were already cut down. He looked down at his charge, the princess, who was staring in wide-eyed fright.

"When I tell you, you must run, and run as fast as you can. Do you understand?"

The princess began to speak.

"But what about you-"

Breaking decorum and taboos, he took the princess by her shoulders and shoved her towards an empty alleyway.

"Run! Run like the Prince of Demons were after you! I will be along shortly, after I deal with this rabble!"

As Fareed drew his own massive sword, he glared at his attackers.

"Have at you, cowardly fools! I'll send you all to hell today, courtesy of my blade!"

For all of his outwards bravado, the Captain of the Guards feared for the safety of the princess, and inwardly he prayed fervently.

"Lord...please hear the prayers and supplications of your most humble servant whom I confess is not the most devout...please safeguard the princess, send an angel to save her!"

* * *

 **(At that very moment)**

"Roger that, as soon as these guys are toast I will exfil to the rally point..."

 **(BGM: SO:TL OST, Downed Plane)**

PFC Gobbi had just finished copying down the coordinates for the extract point from Lt. Bradley. The private had 'appeared' in Agabrah just a few minutes earlier, and just in time, as his fellow 33rd soldiers were pinned down in the streets below.

His point of arrival was a rooftop overlooking a large group of crossbowmen and heavily armed guards that were advancing on a wrecked HUMVEE. It took Gobbi a few minutes to realize that there were no satellite dishes are powerlines crisscrossing the streets. It reminded him enough of Iraq, but then he saw the crossbowmen and took cover on the roof.

He fired off several rounds from his M4, taking out two of the crossbowmen. The element of surprise was gone, and the remaining half-dozen janissaries turned their crossbows at Gobbi, who was forced again to take cover. The private dropped his empty magazine and reloaded, waited until all six arrows whistled overhead. Then he switched his selector to full auto and blind-fired. He couldn't see what if his bullets hit their mark, but was rewarded by several cries of pain.

Gobbi glanced out of cover, seeing the crossbowmen scattering in confusion, then took the initiative and vaulted over the low wall. He sprinted and took cover at the far edge of the roof, now less than a dozen yards from the surviving enemy soldiers. He reloaded, and ducked as more arrows sailed by, one glancing off his Kevlar helmet. The private heard a feminine cry for help, and looked down.

In the streets he saw a young woman in a traveling cloak running, with several rough-looking and heavily armed men chasing her.

Well, this is a no-brainer, Gobbi thought to himself. He looked back up and saw the crossbowmen were gone, either dead or already fled. He looked back down and saw the woman had turned down an alleyway with a dead-end, and was cornered. The thugs had reached the entrance of the alleyway. Gobbi saw the largest one, who looked to be the leader, give an evil leering grin and advanced on the trapped girl. Seeing as he only had seconds to react, the private raised his M4 and took aim at the bad guy.

* * *

The princess was trapped, she knew now that it was folly to leave the safety and security of the Palace, and now she was going to pay for her folly. Seeing the looks the wicked men were giving her, she shuddered to think what sort of ghastly treatment she would receive in their clutches. Their leader advanced on her, giving her a lecherous grin.

"Our master paid us much gold to retrieve you, princess, but fortunately for us he didn't say anything about what sort of shape you were to be handed over in..."

He glanced back at his comrades.

"We'll all have a bit of sport with our little street mouse before handing her over to the Master..."

The other rough men laughed, but their mirth was cut short by the sound of a loud crack that echoed in the narrow alleyway. The leader looked shocked as he stared at a red circle in his breastplate, then a second crack caused his head to explode, and his lifeless corpse collapsed to the ground. Another crack echoed out, and another man fell, and with that his comrades took cover. One of them shouted out.

"It's one of the _giaours_! Stay out of sight, or their thunder weapons will kill you on sight!"

The surviving men cowered down, hiding behind low walls, alcoves and even piles of trash. Their quarry, the princess, was still standing in the open, but she was not the target. One of the attackers started backing away, trying to slowly make his way to the streets and escape. Unbeknownst to him, a figure dropped down from the roofs behind him. The man sensed something amiss, and turned, only to see the butt of an M4 assault rifle coming at his face.

Gobbi clubbed the first baddie, rewarded with the wet crunching noise of the man's nose breaking, causing the man to collapse. But the soldier had no time to savor his kill, there were still three more tangos in the alleyway. Fortunately for the girl, her attackers were now more interested in self-preservation than her. She was rooted to the spot, staring at Gobbi in fear, and honestly the private didn't blame her. He was fully kitted out and wearing his helmet, his face covered by the skull balaclava theat the leader of Zulu Squad had given him.

The remaining hired mercenaries were petrified with fear. Their attacker was most certainly one of the _giaours_ , his clothes and armor matched the description of the survivors who had recounted their botched attack on the foreigners in the city market. This one brandished his thunder weapon, his own face concealed behind a scarf that was woven to look like a human skull, giving the _farangī_ a terrifying appearance.

The private took advantage of the enemy's moment of hesitation, and fired off two quick bursts. Two more fell, but the last one pulled out a short, wicked-looking dagger and grabbed the girl. Holding the knife at her throat, the man shouted out.

"No closer! Or I'll-I'll kill her!"

Gobbi still had his M4 trained on the final thug, then remembered what Merlin told him. Right, think out outside the box, he thought.

The thug watched as the _giaour_ paused. Clearly his threat to the princess's life had at least given the infidel pause, and his hopes soared as he saw the foreigner hold up a gloved hand, and lowered his weapon.

The private slowly and deliberately put his M4 down, leaning it up against the wall. He had discretely put the safety on, just in case the thug or one of his other compatriots would make an attempt to grab it. Besides, Gobbi still had his M9 as backup. He reacted up and undid the clasp on the chin-strap of his helmet. He pulled off his helmet and slowly made his way towards the thug, still gesturing in a placating manner with his free hand.

"Easy does it, man...you don't wanna hurt her, right?"

Gobbi could see the man's grip on the knife relax fractionally. Good, he thought to himself, this could work. The private continued to close the distance, still talking.

"Alright buddy, just release her and you're free to go."

Hope dawned in the thug's eyes, and as if to make his point the private stepped off to the side, giving the man an opening. The thug's eyes darted at Gobbi, then back to the alleyway and the deserted street beyond, then back. The private could see that the man was torn between his desire to avenge his comrades, and his cowardly desire to save his own skin.

Finally the thug sprang into action, shoving aside the girl and lunged at Gobbi with his knife. Gobbi parried the man's clumsy stabbing attack with his helmet, then punched the man in the face. Dazed, the thug turned and made a half-hearted slashing attempt, but the private was too quick, and clubbed him with his Kevlar. The lights went out, and the thug fell. The private leaned down to check the man's pulse, but left himself open to attack from one final assailant.

Gobbi felt a sharp pain in the back of his head, but before he could react he felt the world spin and go dark, then he collapsed to the ground. Behind him the princess held the remains of a ruined flower pot, she was still frightened and reacted more out of instinct than anything. It took her a full minute to realize that the _giaour_ was probably trying to save her. She glanced down at the unconscious foreigner. He was dressed in the same odd clothing and armor as the one called Torrez.

Gingerly she poked the _giaour_ with her foot. No response. She then crouched down and turned him over on his back. On his chest was the same sage-green cuirass, with the same odd pouches and pockets as Torrez. The foreigner's face was still concealed behind the fearsome face covering that was fashioned to look like a death's head. Curiosity got the better of the princess, and she reached out and pulled down the scarf, revealing the giaour's face. The princess's breath caught in her throat, he was just a boy! She had expected an older man like Torrez, or else some ferocious bearded barbarian. Not a smooth-faced boy.

Her staring was cut short as there was a loud crackling noise, and a voice emanated from the boy's armored vest.

 _"Gobbi this is Misfit- I mean this is Lt. Bradley, we are in the air and en route to the rally point, what is your sitch?"_

It gave the princess the second shock of her life, but then she remembered that the same style of voice came from Torrez when she and the street rat were confronted in his hideout. As if on cue, the same voice hissed again.

 _"Gobbi, this is Lt. Bradley callsign Misfit One Actual, how copy?"_

It must be some form of scrying communication, she thought to herself. Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard shouts echoing from the street.

"This way! Hurry!"

She stood up, but her fear gave way to relief as she saw two familiar figures running from the street into the alleyway. Her captain of the Royal Guards, Fareed, and his lieutenant had caught up to her. Fareed had a few superficial cuts, but appeared none the worse for the wear. His large, bearded face creased into a look of relief and joy as he saw his charge unharmed.

"Allah be praised, you are safe!"

He came up and drew short of embracing her, instead he knelt down in front of her.

"It gladdens me to see you unharmed, your majesty!"

As he knelt Fareed saw the unconscious _giaour_ at the princess's feet. A dark look crossed the captain's face, and he stood up.

"I should have known that these foreigners were behind your kidnapping..."

He drew his sword.

"I'll have my vengeance, with your permission, your majesty..."

Quickly he drew himself up to his full height, readying the killing blow.

"Stop!"

The princess's outburst shocked both Fareed and his lieutenant. The captain slowly lowered his blade, his gaze alternating between his charge and the unconscious foreigner lying on the ground.

"B-but, your majesty! These men are dangerous!"

The princess shook her head. Truth be told, she had shocked herself by her response.

"This one was not part of the thugs that were trying to kidnap me."

Her gaze fell on the _giaour_ 's face.

"He saved me, and risked his life..."

She directed her attention to Fareed and squared her shoulders.

"You will not harm him, by order of me, the Princess!"

* * *

"Momma! Lookit!"

Her mother was sitting on the couch by the Christmas tree, and smiled.

"What is it, Zellie?"

The 3 year old girl, still dressed in her pajamas, had just opened a brightly colored box with air holes in it, revealing a small, furry bundle. The toddler held up a cute, meowing kitten.

"Kitty!"

The girl's father, who was sitting next to her mother grinned.

"That lil' fella sounds hungry, Zelli..."

Pete Gobbi glanced back at the small dining/kitchen area that was adjacent to their living room.

"Why don't you let Daddy feed him an' you go finish your breakfast sweetie?"

Zellie ran up to her dad and hugged him.

"Daddy is the best!"

Gobbi gently took the kitten from his baby girl and watched as she scampered off to her place at the table. The private leaned over and kissed his wife.

"Thanks for makin' it happen on such short notice, babe."

His wife returned the kiss, then gave her husband a sly smile.

"No problem, but you do realize you're the one who's gonna be taking care of that little furball, right?"

Gobbi grinned again as he held up the kitten.

"C'mon, Robert, you gonna take that lyin' down?"

He saw the look his wife was giving him.

"Really? You're naming our daughter's kitten after your battalion 1st sergeant?"

The private shrugged.

"Hey, it's a 33rd thing, babe..."

As if on cue the little kitten meowed, and started licking Gobbi's face. The private chuckled as the kitten's tongue rasped across his face. It felt odd, but for some reason Gobbi felt like the kitten's tongue was leaving a larger footprint than he thought.

Until he woke up, still feeling a tongue rasping across his face. Gobbi slowly opened his eyes, and saw a large, orange tiger licking his face. The private froze, not sure where he was. The tiger, for his part, seemed fairly intelligent, and nudged him. Gobbi took that as a sign that the large jungle cat didn't view him as an entree on the menu, and slowly sat up.

"Easy does it there, Tony the Tiger...easy..."

Another voice, this one distinctively feminine, spoke up.

"Ah, thou art awake."

Pete looked up and for the first time got a good look to his surroundings. He was in a large room that reminded him of some of the more opulent venues in Dubai, at least before the sandstorms had ravaged them. It was all polished marble floors, arched doorways filigreed in gold, heavy silk curtains and brightly-colored woven rugs. Then his gaze fell upon the voice's owner.

It was a girl perched on a satin pillow beside him. He recognized her as the girl that he rescued from the thugs, although before she was almost completely covered up in a dirty traveling cloak, now he finally got a good look at her. She was a teenager, with classic Middle-Eastern features; olive skin, an Aquiline nose, and large light brown eyes rimmed in khol. Her lips were glossed in a burgundy, that were parted slightly as she stared at him. She had raven black hair bound into long pony tail with several golden bands. Gobbi realized that he was still in his ACU's and armor, although his weapon was nowhere to be found.

The girl reached out and stroked his face, her crimson-painted fingernails grazed across his cheek. The private noticed her clothes, she was dressed in wispy thin clothing made of turquoise muslin. She leaned forward, revealing more of her figure that was appropriate for a girl of her age. As she drew closer Gobbi's nose was assaulted by the aroma of exotic spices and perfumes, her skin also seemed to glisten. He also saw that his M4 was laid out beside him.

Finally Gobbi found his voice.

"Uh...gonna ask a stupid question, but who are you, and where am I?"

The girl giggled.

"Oh my, where art my manners? Thou currently stand," she paused and giggled, "...or rather sit, in the presence of Princess Alyasimin Bin Harun al-Rashid, daughter of the Sultan Harun al-Rashid, the Just and Upright, Beloved by Allah and all, ruler of Agabrah, of the Abbasid Caliphate. And you are currently my guest at the palace, for saving me..."

Gobbi's eyes widened as the implications of his actions clicked into place.

"Princess? But you're still a girl!"

She let out an unladylike snort.

"Hah! I just surpassed my sixteenth summer, so I am on the cusp of womanhood."

She looked him over, and her hazel eyes glittered as she caressed his face again.

"Thou are quite comely, for a _farangī_. Tell me, lovely fair-skinned boy who saved my life, what is thy name?"

His brain froze up, and he recited his name and rank mechanically.

"Um, Private First Class Pete Gobbi, Ma'am."

The girl looked puzzled.

"Pry-pryvait?"

"A Private First Class, it's a military rank..."

Her eyes lit up.

"Ah, thou art a _salibi_! I should have known by thy bearing."

She ran one of her hands over his plate carrier, along with its pouches. She seemed particularly fascinated by the velcro straps and the noises they made.

"But thy raiment and armor is nothing like the pictures and descriptions that my scribes have said about thy kind. Art thou different? Where doest thou come from? The Kingdom of the Franks?"

Gobbi shook his head.

"Ah, from a faraway place, Ma'am..."

He felt a pain on his arm as the princess pinched him.

"I told thee, my name is Jasmine!"

Her fair features creased into a frown.

"My guards wanted to kill thee on sight, thy companions caused much pain and suffering in the city."

She seemed guarded as she asked the question.

"Art thou invaders, as my guards would believe?"

Gobbi shook his head vigorously.

"Ah, that's a negative, princess. This was all just a big mistake, fog of war, that whole shit..."

He saw the puzzled look on Jasmine's face.

"Look, I just arrived here when the shit hit the fan, but from what I gathered, one of my buddies got into trouble, and the rest of my cadre went charging in to rescue him, and apparently made a mess..."

The princess slowly nodded.

"A misunderstanding...that would explain why thou didst risk thy life to save me..."

The private didn't know how to respond to that, but didn't have to, as he saw the princess pick up his M4 by the barrel. She turned it over in her hands, and for a moment Gobbi thought how ridiculous a delicate princess from an Arabian Nights tale looked carrying a NATO-grade assault rifle. He gingerly took it from her and secured the weapon.

"I'll take that, you don't want to be playin' around with my boomstick, it'll hurt ya if you're not careful..."

She laughed again.

"Oh, thou art so amusing, Pete Gobbi of the rank of Private First Class...I would so much like to beg Father to keep thee here just as a companion..."

She paused and leaned in, the scent of her perfumes almost overwhelming.

"Thou art not a prince, perchance? Or have any Royal blood?"

Pete chuckled.

"Ah, that's a negative, princess. Just a hillbilly from Kentucky."

She leaned back on her haunches, clearly disappointed.

"A pity then...I wish'd thou wert a prince in disguise, then I would have finally found a suitable suitor."

That set off more warning bells in Gobbi's head, and he tried to steer the conversation away from him.

"Ah, hold on a sec...didn't you have a fella that you're carrying a torch for, y'know, that diamond in the rough?"

She turned sharply and arched one of her perfectly plucked eyebrows.

"What doest thou know of that lowly street rat?"

That didn't sound like a term of endearment to me, Gobbi thought to himself. This could be bad. He glanced back at the princess, and saw the look she was giving him. Scratch that, this _**was**_ bad.

"Ah, well you see, I find it odd that you an' him were an item, and I didn't realize you had a fallin' out..."

The princess giggled and and stroked Pete's cheek again. The private thought that she liked to do that and would use any excuse to do it again. Gobbi tried to keep the conversation focused on her beau.

"Um, princess?"

"I told thee, it's Jasmine!"

"Well, Jasmine, Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do ya hate on the street rat so much?"

She let out an unladylike snort.

"I thought he was different, but I was wrong...all he cares about is gold, so he can become royalty..."

Gobbi shook his head.

"C'mon, you know the only reason he wanted that treasure is because he knows he can't be with ya if he's a commoner!"

The princess looked at him directly, and for a moment Pete thought he might have said the wrong thing. She then laughed.

"Thou art a mystery, Pete Gobbi of the rank of Private First Class! I so wish thou wert a noble."

"Why's that?"

The princess smiled slyly as she crawled towards him. Pete tried scooting away, to no avail.

"Then I could ask and receive Father's blessing for marriage."

Channeling her pet tiger, Jasmine crouched down and then jumped, landing in Gobbi's lap. Now straddling him, she ran a finger down his chest, smiling licentiously.

"Or we could just enter into a sutric congress...if thou wert to defile me and put a baby in my belly then Father will have no choice..."

She paused and put a finger to her chin.

"Of course, I will have to make sure Father doesn't castrate and kill thee for impregnating his daughter..."

Any illicit thoughts of a teenaged girl in vaporwear straddling him left Pete Gobbi's mind and dumped a metaphorical ice bucket on his crotch. He pushed the princess off, causing her to land on her rump and squeal. The private pulled himself to his feet.

"Look sweetie, there ain't gonna be no conjugal congress or deflowering or anything like that! Y'all are a princess and yer gonna find the love of yer life..."

He reached down and grabbed his M4, slinging it over his shoulder. Jasmine seemed to read his mind.

"Wait! Where art thou going?"

Gobbi looked around for his helmet.

"Leaving...Lt. Bradley's probably wondering why I didn't make the rally point..."

Suddenly spying his cover on a nearby end-table, the private grabbed it. The princess had no idea what 'rally point' meant, but she was able to parse out that her fair-skinned boy was leaving her. As he took his helmet, she grabbed the chin strap, causing Gobbi to stop.

"Hey, leggo!"

She stamped her foot and raised her chin obstinately.

"No! Not until thou promises to stay!"

"No can do, princess. I gotta RV with my cadre and hope they don't do more rash shit..."

Before she could respond the doors to her boudoir crashed open, revealing several Royal Guards, including the burly captain of the guards. Instinctively Gobbi raised his M4, backing away from the princess. He also notice a smaller man, wearing opulent silk robes and a highly ornate turban. At a guess, the private reasoned that was the sultan, her father. His guess was confirmed when the diminutive man frowned at Gobbi, and pointed a chubby finger at him.

"Kill him! That _giaour_ has violated the sanctity of my daughter's privacy!"

The guards, including the captain, hesitated as they saw Gobbi's M4. The sultan had only heard second-hand accounts of the foreigner's thunder weapons, and doubted their accuracy. The captain, on the other hand, had witnessed their deadliness first-hand, and there was no doubt in his mind. As it turned out, his hesitation was unnecessary as Jasmine cried out.

"No, guards! I forbid it!"

The princess turned to her father.

"Father, thou wilt do no such thing! I forbid it!"

The sultan shook his head.

"That is the advantage of being sultan, good daughter. I can do anything I wish..."

He gave the foreigner pointing some sort of short metal spear at his guards.

"Including ordering the execution of a vile infidel whose profane gaze has witnessed your beauty unguarded..."

The princess advanced on her father, glaring at him.

"Father, if thou dost kill this boy, then I will have no reason for living, and will fling myself from the highest tower of his palace..."

The sultan paused, and glanced over at his daughter.

"You wouldn't..."

Gobbi could see that the sultan was trying to convince himself as much as his daughter. Jasmine held up her head and continued.

"If thou harmest a blonde hair on my beautiful fair-skinned _farangi_ boy's head, I swear by the Lord Allah I will do it, and be damned forever in _Haawiyah_."

The private saw it as a good distraction, and piped up.

"She'll jump, yer majesty!"

The sultan looked over to Gobbi as if he had just hatched out of nowhere.

"You stay out of this!"

The private tried diplomacy.

"Okay, so there's no reason for anyone to be jumping off anything...Look, your highness, this is all a big misunderstanding..."

The princess nodded emphatically.

"Yes, that boy saved my life! He is my rescuer!"

Her father's demeanor change immediately. He cheerfully clasped his hands as he looked over to Gobbi.

"Oh, so you were the one who saved her from those horrid thugs? Well, that's splendid!"

The private slung his M4 and started for the door.

Yeah, great. Now, if you want to throw me out, y'won't have to, I'll leave freely. I gotta report in..."

He looked up at Fareed, who was still glaring at him.

"Can ya tell Tall and Grizzly here to step aside so I can leave?"

Jasmine grasped her fathers' hand.

"No, Father, please do not let him go! he is my savior!"

Both Gobbi and the captain of the Guards stared at the princess, both equally shocked.

"What?"

"What he said, what-what?"

But the princess continued, her gaze fell on Gobbi.

"Let him stay...as my guest."

The sultan shook his head.

"Oh, Jasmine, really I can't stand your rebellious behavior! Why can't you be this way towards the princes who come courting?"

She smiled, still staring at the private.

"Because this one is different! He is sweet, and kind and he is a mighty warrior."

Fareed stared incredulously at Gobbi, who shrugged his shoulders at the captain.

"Hey, that last bit is a stretch."

She looked at her father with shining eyes. The last time I saw this trick it was in a Japanese cartoon, Gobbi thought to himself as he watch the scene unfold.

"Please?"

The sultan finally relented.

"Oh, all right."

Gobbi reacted before the guards did.

"Wait, what?! Don't I have a say so in this?"

The sultan smiled as he gazed at the princess.

"You have my gratitude for saving my daughter's life, and what's more you've been a gentleman towards her, and not to be too blunt you're the first man that she hasn't thrown out on the seat of his pantaloons. And I can't refuse any request my dear daughter asks of me."

He then turned his attention to Gobbi.

"And to answer your question, I'm afraid you don't have a say so in the matter."

He paused.

"Of course, I expect you to maintain proper decorum with my daughter..."

He wagged his finger at the private.

"I warn you, if you lay your hands on her and despoil her virtue, then you will either have to marry her, or you will be executed."

The sultan saw the look of horror on Gobbi's face and shrugged apologetically.

"I'm sorry boy, those are the rules..."

Gobbi watched as the sultan left, then looked over his shoulder and saw the princess wink mischievously at him. He saw the captain of the guards still remaining at the threshold.

"Ah, buddy, I know this sounds odd, but even a dungeon cell is sounding comfy about now..."

Fareed could see the young man's discomfort, and felt sorry for him, in spite of him being an infidel and a foreigner. But the princess clapped her hands, interrupting his thoughts.

"Guards, leave us! And I am not to be disturbed, is that clear?"

The captain gave a low bow.

"As you command, your majesty."

The private turned and barely had enough time to react as the princess pounced on him, sending them both into a large pile of overstuffed pillows. Gobbi was once again overwhelmed by the smell of perfumes and musky spices as the girl frantically kissed his face. He felt his temperature rising, and vaguely he could feel a small pair of hands fumbling around where his belt was. That was enough for Gobbi to come to his senses, and he tried to push the princess off him.

But this time, she was not going to be so easily dissuaded.

"Thou strugglest too much, Pete Gobbi of the rank of Private First Class! Many men would go to war for the privilege of taking my virtue! If thou despoiles't me then thou wilt have to marry me!"

Fortunately for Gobbi buttons won't be invented for another 600 years, as evident by the princess's inability to figure out how to unbutton them.

"Wilt thou stop struggling!"

She huffed exasperatedly and sat up.

"Thy breeches, how to they come undone?"

Gobbi shook his head.

"No can do!"

"Why!?"

"Because one, these ACU pants are property of the US Army and two they're they only think preventing me from givin' in to temptation."

The princess sighed, then something caught her eye. A sly smile pursed her lips as she stood up.

"Well, there is more than one way to filet a fish..."

She padded over to the end-table and opened a drawer, revealing an ornamental dagger. She picked up and walked back over to Gobbi.

"Now, either tell me how to unfasten your breeches, or I will cut them off!"

Before Gobbi could respond the doors to the princess's chambers were flung open. A pair of guards fell to the ground, unconscious, and a woman stepped in. She was tall, with dark hair and grey eyes, and was dressed in a revealing harem outfit complete with slippers in dark red. Pete noticed two things about the newcomer, she had to be from his world, and she was also a soldier. Mostly because she had tattoos on her shoulders and arms, including an Eagle, Globe and Anchor, which meant she was a Marine, and the woman was also brandishing a Beretta M9 handgun. The woman looked over to him and spoke.

"Private Gobbi?"

The woman stated it in a voice that spoke of an senior NCO or commanding officer. Instinctively Gobbi straightened up.

"Yes ma'am!"

"You're coming with me, private. I'm your ticket outta here..."

The private breathed a sigh of relief as he stood up, pushing the still stunned princess off him.

"You're a sight for sore eyes, ma'am..."

The Marine glared at Gobbi.

"I hope that wasn't a comment on my getup, private, or that'll cost you later. An' save the gratitude for Lt. Bradley, assuming he doesn't shoot your ass for the shitstorm you've caused..."

She turned her attention back to the princess who was still sitting on the ground, staring at the two of them in stunned silence.

"Sorry, Princess, but the Private's coming with me."

Jasmine finally came to her senses and glared at the woman.

"No! He's my beloved, and he is to become my husband! Find thy own thrall, harem whore!"

Captain Pelayo's eyes narrowed.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, princess."

Gobbi started towards the door, and the princess started to call out, only to be silenced by a deafening crack. Pelayo had fired her M9 in the air, and it seemed to have the desired effect. Both the princess and her pet tiger were frozen in place. She leveled her weapon on Raj.

"...And I love cats, but if Tigger on`Roids over there moves then he's getting a lead salad."

Pelayo stepped over the unconscious guards and motioned Gobbi to do the same. As they left she noticed that the private was staring, specifically at her clothes, or lack thereof.

"Screw your eyeballs back into your sockets, private. An' I hope for your sake you have ammo for that weapon, otherwise this is gonna be a real short trip..."

* * *

Glossary:

 _Ḍaḥḥāk_ : A demon in Persian mythos that takes the form of a huge, fire-breathing dragon.

 _Salibi_ : A mercenary for hire.

 _Haawiyah_ : One of the names for Hell in Islam.

* * *

 _(AN: And yes, before anyone says it, I'm a stinker for doing that to PFC Gobbi :) Facing down blue ballin', then death, then more blue-ballin', then a scantily-clad Marine...He's had a busy time on his first day on the job XD_

 _Also I know in the fluff of the cartoon Aladdin the sultan's name is Hamed Bolobonius II, but it didn't sound right so I took some artistic liberties...And if the princess seems flighty and spoiled, well that's part of my deconstruction of the tale. In most of the Disney princess tales she has a single parent, and usually that parent is useless. In real life those types of situations lead to the offspring becoming a spoiled brat. Case and point. Ditto for the sultan, if he comes off as a ditz and not a very good judge of character, well, he has Jaffar as an advisor so go figure. I wanted to emphasize that in this chapter, that maybe the bad guy has a point. Anyways, hopefully it struck the right balance._

 _As for the reason the princess is speaking in Ye Olde Archaic English is to show that she speaks a more refined version of Farsi than the 'street lingo' of Aladdin._

 _So, the cavalry shows up in the form of the Marines (or Marine, in this case), saving PFC Gobbi from a fate worse than death! Will Gobbi and Pelayo make it out of the palace? Well, I should have the next chapter up by Easter, I've been neglecting another writing project and I promised myself that I would get that chapter done before putting out another chapter for this one. And in fairness that still puts me at the two week turnaround timeframe that I have been keeping up on this story. Fair warning, once the training mission is over and we get into the actual fairy tales, updates will be more like once a month. Until then!)_


	9. The Great Escape

_(AN: Wow, I was pleasantly surprised by the reactions to the last chapter. Of course, anyone who was familiar (no pun intended) with my other story should have guessed that it was going to be a doozy based off the Achievement chapter title ;)_

 _Once again I rushed this out so apologies for any errors, I'll get them corrected tout-suite._

 _So, while it was fun to watch Bradley and co channel Black Hawk Down and Act of Valor in a Disney cartoon trying to rescue Torrez, now we get to see the after-effects of their actions. To paraphrase what Captain Walker remarked in one of the Intel Items in the game, the cost of the Exile's presence in Dubai-I mean, Agabrah, continues to grow LOL.)_

* * *

PFC Gobbi followed the female Marine through the darkening hallways of the palace. As they ran past a picture window the private saw that the sun was setting, it would be dark soon. He had dozens of questions on his mind, but at the moment the most important was getting the hell out of Dodge. Finally his curiosity got the better of him, when the Marine paused at a juncture he spoke up in a low whisper.

"Uh...ma'am?"

The Marine without warning shoved Gobbi against a wall, pushing him into cover while holding her M9 at the ready. Several palace guards ran past, while the two soldiers remained in cover and unnoticed. She glanced back at the private, as if reading his mind replied.

"To answer your questions, it's Captain Pelayo of the Marine Recon, specifically Marine Light Attack Helo Squadron 169, callsign Deadly."

"Uh, roger that, ma'am. That explains the tattoos and the weapon."

He glanced about.

"So, where's Lt. Bradley?"

Pelayo slowly edged back into the hallway, peering around the corner, then motioned Gobbi to follow.

"Bradley and his bunch decided not to accompany me on this mission...at least not to the princess's boudoir."

Gobbi chuckled as he followed.

"That surprises me, especially Torrez. I'd have thought he'd have given his left nut for an opportunity like this..."

To his surprise, the Marine's stern features creased into a grin.

"Torrez did...up until the point he realized that he's have to dress in drag and/or lose his balls in the process..."

She paused and nodded at Gobbi's weapon.

"You got ammo for that weapon, pria'at?"

In response the private pulled a mag out of his plate carrier and slapped it into the receiver.

"Yes ma'am."

She gestured with her M9.

"If shit hits the fan, I'll need you to provide covering fire. This little peashooter is a good noisemaker, but it's not good for much else."

As they continued Gobbi heard a crackle of static, and a familiar voice spoke up.

 _"Deadly, this is Misfit Three, `port in..."_

Pelayo pulled a military radio seemingly out of nowhere and keyed the mic.

"Misfit Three this is Deadly, be advised, I have the package and am inbound to rally point, ETA five mikes."

The voice, which sounded to Gobbi like Sgt. Torrez, continued through the static.

 _"Roger that Deadly, looks like you stirred up a hornet's nest, there's guards running all over the palace."_

The Marine chuckled again as she responded.

"That's an understatement, Misfit Three. Be advised this is going to be a hot extract, the pri'at's got some ammo for his weapon but you're going to have to provide crew-served backup for the exfil."

 _"Roger that Deadly, just keep us posted...Misfit Three, out..."_

"I'd like to know where the hell you were hiding that radio, ma'am."

Pelayo turned her attention back to Gobbi and glared as she said nothing but unceremoniously shoved the radio back into her bodice.

"Need to know info, pri'at."

She gestured ahead.

"Round that bend is a hallway leads to the main terrace, which is our extract point..."

As they rounded a corner Gobbi heard a shout and instinctively raised his weapon. There, standing in the middle of the hallway was massive man wielding a sword, standing behind him was several other guards. The private recognized him as the captain of the guards. Fareed, for his part, saw where Gobbi was aiming his weapon, and slowly lowered his sword, although he didn't sheath it. He gave the private a wry smile.

"So, _giaour_...now you are leaving us? You tire of her majesty the princess's company so soon?"

Gobbi chuckled at the large man's humor.

"Sorry big guy, but the princess is gonna be disappointed tonight. I gotta rendezvous with my cadre..."

He paused.

"Hey look, man...whatever went down there in the streets, like I said earlier, it was just fog of war...it was nothin' personal."

Fareed shrugged his massive shoulders.

"The sultan won't see it that way."

The private glanced down at his M4, noting that Fareed and his men were staring at it.

"Fair enough."

He pointed with one gloved finger at his weapon.

"Now, y'all know what this boomstick can do...I don't need to tell ya that."

The private started to back away, and Pelayo followed.

"I don't wanna shoot ya, but me an' the Captain are gonna make that rally point. This thing can turn you and your buddies into hamburger before any of your draw your swords."

He slowly retreated as he continued.

"You don't have to throw your life away."

One of Fareed's men started to advance on Gobbi, but was stopped and held in place by the massive man. He appeared conflicted as he spoke.

"You know that letting you get away will be a stain on my honor, _giaour_..."

Gobbi shrugged.

"At least you'll still be alive, an' you can regain your honor...Can't regain your life."

Fareed nodded.

"You speak truth, young _farangī_. But know that to regain my honor I will be forced to hunt you down, even unto the ends of the earth..."

His gaze wandered over to Pelayo, and her revealing outfit, and his expression changed.

"Although, if you are keeping the same company, I wouldn't necessarily mind it..."

The private chuckled.

"Well, you're certainly welcome to try, an' I'd wish you limited success in your searching."

There was a long, pregnant pause as Fareed considered Gobbi's words. For a moment Gobbi thought that he would have to open fire, but then the captain of the guards burst out laughing.

"You are quite a funny one, _giaour_. I really wish you would just come quietly and save all of us the trouble. Still..."

He turned to his men.

"Go, run to the East Wing, that is where I saw the _giaour_ and his rescuer flee to..."

His right hand man, Hamid, stared in disbelief at his captain.

"B-but, they are standing right here."

The captain directed a glare at him.

"No, they are not, you fool!"

"I am looking right at them!"

"Then your eyes are deceived by their foul foreigner magic, those are obviously mirages. Now go!"

The man only paused for a moment, before he finally drew his own sword and ran off, his compatriots hot on his heels. Fareed was the last to leave, but paused.

"Know that if it were my call to make I would let you go and forget of your existence...but the princess is not so easily dissuaded."

As he left, he spoke in parting.

"If I were you, I would flee very far from here. I hope for your sake that we don't meet again..."

And with that, he left.

Gobbi was still standing there staring as the large man disappeared into the palace, but was brought out of his fugue by a dope slap to the side of his helmet.

"Wake up, sleeping beauty! We gotta move!"

The private followed, and he could see a light ahead as a large door opened to the outside terrace. And, more importantly Gobbi could hear the distinctive chopping noise of a military helicopter approaching outside. As if on cue Pelayo pulled out her radio.

"Misfit Three this is Deadly, be advised we are almost to the rally point..."

Torrez's voice replied through the radio's static.

 _"Deadly this is Misfit Three, we have eyes on the rally point. Be advised there are beaucoup guards converging on your position."_

The two of them paused at the wide door's entrance. Outside, the sun had almost set, bathing the sky and the palace's massive domes in a blood-red light. Gobbi could see a dark shape against the darkening sky, it's anti-collision lights winking on and off. He heard Pelayo speak over the din of the chopper's engines.

"Misfit Three we have eyes on you, get as close as you can to that railing...we'll make a break for it when you give the go-ahead."

 _"Roger that."_

As the craft slowly descended and came closer, Gobbi could see that the chopper was in fact a SH-60 Seahawk, it's grey paint job also reflecting the red glare of the sunset. Suddenly, out of the darkness arrows whistled through the air and glanced off the chopper's airframe. He could hear someone else on the radio shout out.

 _"Arrows, arrows, arrows! Enemy tangos, two o'clock!"_

The crew-served M249 aboard the chopper opened up, and tracer fire struck the side of the palace. Pelayo keyed the mic on her radio.

"Misfit Three, continue suppressing fire and when you give the signal we will exfil!"

The arrow fire diminished, then Gobbi heard a voice in the static.

"Go, go, go!"

He took off running, his boots pounding on the polished marble stones of the terrace. Pelayo watched as the private dodged a couple of arrows, but still managed to jump into the safety of the chopper's interior. Then chopper banked sharply to the left as something barely missed it, and the Marine's heart sank as she heard Torrez's voice on the radio.

 _"Shit! They got a goddamned ballista! Taking evasive maneuvers!"_

She fought down a panic as she keyed the mic.

"Take that fucker out! Don't leave my ass hanging in the breeze!"

As if in response the Seahawk pivoted in position, then with a loud _whoosh!_ one of its Hellfire missiles streaked off to the side. The entire palace shook with a loud explosion as the missile hit its target and detonated.

"Misfit Three I am inbound, get as close as you can and make sure that damned door is open!"

Not even waiting for a response she made a break for it.

Pelayo's heart was pounding in her chest, she could hear arrows whizzing past her head, she could almost feel them brush her bare skin as they flew past. Her breath felt like battery acid in her lungs, her muscles felt like they were on fire as they burned with lactic acid, but still she ran.

Twenty feet...ten feet...she could hear the shouts of the guards behind her. Although she somehow knew they were still in the palace in her heightened state it sounded like they were right on her heels.

When she was less than five feet away Pelayo braced off the railing and took a flying leap.

Time slowed down as she stretched out her arms to the chopper's crew chief. PFC Mayfield was leaning out of the open door to grab her.

For a terrible moment those outstretched arms were too far away. Then time sped back up, and she felt a pair of gloved hands grab her by the elbows. Mayfield and Gobbi hauled her into the chopper's interior, almost knocking the wind out of her. Pelayo didn't care. She had made it.

She glanced over to PFC Gobbi, who was grinning at her.

"That was a helluva leap, ma'am."

Pelayo caught her breath and nodded.

"Same to you, pri'at. Just don't expect me to do that again."

She saw that the private was staring at Sgt. Torrez, who was in the pilot's seat. The sergeant glanced back at Gobbi, and grinned.

"What? You were expecting someone else?"

Captain Pelayo settled into her seat, while Gobbi was being grilled by Pvt. Davis and Mayfield. Specifically, about the princess.

"...C'mon Pete! Spill, was she as hot as she was in the cartoon?"

Gobbi shrugged.

"I dunno, I guess?"

Davis leaned forward.

"You guess?! Do you know how many times I fantasized about being in the same room as Princess Jasmine? Hell, I was twelve when that came out on VHS and was fapping to her and that bare-your-midriff outfit she was wearin'!"

The medic grinned.

"Even got permanently eighty-sixed from Disneyland for it!"

"OKaaay TMI, Corey..."

Mayfield secured his weapon and leaned forward to speak to Gobbi over the cabin noise.

"Okay man, I'll break it down, Barney-style. On a scale of one to ten, what was she?"

"Oh, a ten easy. She was all decked out and hot as hell..."

"What?!" Davis exclaimed.

"...An' you're telling me she was throwing herself at you and you didn't smash that like the Incredible Hulk?"

Gobbi glanced over to Pelayo, who was shaking her head.

"Well, for one thing, she's a spoiled brat."

"Eh, that just means Romeo and her are made for each other."

Davis persisted.

"So, she was trying to get into your pants, and you didn't smash becaaauuse?"

"Dude, she's like 16."

"So?"

"So, you haven't heard of '16 will getcha 20?"

Davis shrugged.

"That's real world rules. In case you haven't noticed, we're not in the real world anymore. We're in some weird-ass magical Storybook `verse."

Gobbi shook his head.

"Well, I don't give a shit what world we're in, it's still wrong!"

Mayfield chimed in.

"Hey, for all we know this could be the good afterlife, y'know like Heaven or Valhalla. It could be our sacred duty to smash all these hot princesses, and you're shirking your duty!"

Davis grinned.

"Unless you don't swing that way...I get it, you were probably fapping to Aladdin because he looks like Tom Cruise?"

"Fuck you, Davis."

Mayfield laughed.

"Yeah, I'll bet you watch Top Gun for the volleyball scene, too!"

"Fuck you, too Mayfield!"

Torrez called back from the cockpit, throwing in his two cents.

"Hey, I'll testify, I saw her. She's hot and I'd totally smash that in every hole...don't care if I did get arrested or thrown in the dungeon for it..."

Gobbi saw Pelayo still shaking her head.

"I'm Marine Recon, and here I am babysitting a bunch of fucking immature grunts..."

He then turned to Davis.

"Hey, speaking of which, where the fuck was Aladdin in all this shit-show? He was s'pposed to rescue Jasmine..."

The medic shrugged.

"Got his ass cut up in the failed evac. He's recuperating back at the oasis."

He grinned at Gobbi.

"Speaking of which, I'd really like to know how you're gonna break the news to Romeo..."

"About what?"

"About what transpired between his beloved princess and you, Pete."

Gobbi nervously fingered the bolt on his M4.

"I told ya, nothing happened...Look, I'll break it to him..."

Torrez spoke up again.

"That's not a good idea, pri'at...at least not without backup. Romeo's a hothead..."

"Not to worry, I got this...besides, he's wounded right? How much of a threat could he be?"

* * *

 **(30 minutes later, at the Oasis...)**

PFC Gobbi jumped back as the razor sharp curved sword came within inches of his plate carrier. The one swinging the blade was the young thief, dressed in bandages and no less lethal. And also mad as hell.

"Vile son of a Jackal! I shall kill you for deflowering my beloved desert flower!"

The private held up his hands.

"Hey, Easy the fuck does it kid! There weren't no deflowering or flowering of any kind! An' besides, that gal threw herself at me, not the other way around!"

Gobbi had to dodge another attack as the youth charged at him.

"Lies! You wish to defile her character like you defiled her body! I will not allow it!"

Captain Pelayo sighed as she watched the drama unfold. The Marine glanced off to the side and saw SGT Torrez guffawing along with PVT Davis.

"Hey Pete! What was that crack about you got this? Looks like you `bout to 'got' cut a new asshole!"

Gobbi dodged another attack and looked over to Connors and Bradley, who were also laughing, albeit at a safe distance.

"C'mon, Chuck! Ah could use some help here!"

SSG Connors shook his shaved head, still chuckling.

"Uh-uh sorry Pete, you're on your own, boy. I already got cut once in Atlanta in a street fight, and after that I stay away from that shit. As long as Prince Romeo over there is wielding that katana I'm stayin' out."

"It's a fucking scimitar, not a katana!"

Pete narrowly missed being decapitated.

"Katana's are Japanese!"

Connors shrugged.

"Whatever it's called, I'm keeping my big black ass as far away that sharp shit as possible."

The female Marine glared at Torrez.

"Why don't you do something, sergeant?"

Torrez chuckled.

"Not my circus, not my monkees, sweetheart."

She then looked over to Bradley.

"And you, lieutenant?"

Lt. Bradley wanted to intervene, but like Connors obviously didn't want to get cut.

"Ah, ma'am unless that's an order, I'm following Connors on this..."

Pelayo pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation.

"Oh, for fuck's sake..."

The Marine marched up to Aladdin, and without warning lashed out. In a blink of an eye she had grabbed Aladdin by the wrist, wrenched the sword out of his hand, and spun the lad into a hammerlock.

"That's enough, loverboy."

The teen struggled in the Marine's much stronger grip.

"Ayah! Let go of me, Woman who dresses like a Man, your mannish hands are hurting me."

Pelayo glared at him.

"Yeah, that's the point. And for that little crack-"

She twisted his arm further up his back, causing him to yelp in pain.

"Now you're going to say you're sorry to Gobbi for trying to kill him, then to me for calling me mannish."

The young thief struggled, but to no avail. Finally he gave up.

"Woman who dresses like a Man, I apologize to you for calling you masculine. Pete Gobbi of the Rank of Private First Class, I am sorry for trying to kill you in revenge for seducing my beloved..."

Pelayo let go, and watched as Aladdin shuffled off. Davis started after him, but Bradley stopped him.

"Leave him be. He'll cool off."

The Marine helped Gobbi back to his feet.

"You alright, pri'at?"

Gobbi nodded.

"Thanks ma'am, that makes two times y'all have saved my ass..."

She sighed.

"Yeah...don't make a habit of it...Kerrist on a motorbike it's like I'm back in JROTC again, surrounded by immature idiots. Only now they're Army grunts."

She turned her attention back to Bradley.

"So, what now?"

The lieutenant scratched the two-day stubble on his cheek.

"Dunno. Probably lay low at let shit die down. We still need to help Romeo get his treasure."

Captain Pelayo folded her arms.

"Weren't you listening during my AAR debriefing? That princess is not gonna just take this lying down, not until she has Gobbi lying down with her. We have to come up with some sort of plan."

She shivered in the night air, still wearing her revealing harem outfit.

"And worse, I left my flightsuit and gear back at the palace in our haste to get the fuck outta dodge..."

Torrez stepped up.

"I gotta agree with the Captain on this one. One, apart of Gobbi we're all low on ammo, so if the princess sic's her dad's army on us we won't survive a protracted firefight."

He pointed to the Seahawk.

"Two, we have a chopper and a pilot, let's just cut our losses and get the fuck outta Dodge."

Bradley held up his hands.

"Look, I understand your concerns, but there's no point in jumping to conclusions or making rash decisions. That's how we got in this mess to begin with. Now, starting tomorrow morning we'll regroup and figure something out."

He nodded to Mayfield.

"Private, you guard the chopper and the HUMVEE. Don't let any desert bandits get near it."

He turned to Davis.

"Davis, make sure Aladdin doesn't rip his bandages or anything."

Finally Bradley looked over to Gobbi.

"As for you, there is some questions I have."

He looked over to Connors, who shifted uneasily in his boots.

"Who's side are you on?"

Gobbi stared at the lieutenant dumbfoundedly.

"What're you talking about, sir?"

Bradley frowned.

"I mean, whose side did you take during the Mutiny?"

Pelayo looked puzzled, but the private finally responded.

"Same as yours, sir. We sided with Colonel Konrad, of course!"

That revelation shocked Bradley. He remembered less than three days ago fleeing Dubai after the last battle at the Exiles' base. But, the lieutenant also had recurring nightmares every night since then, about how he sided with the Damned and was killed by some rogue CIA kill-team. He looked over to Connors, who seemed to be reading his mind. He then looked back to Gobbi and continued.

"How...how did you show up here?"

Gobbi set down his helmet and sat down.

"I was fragged by Captain Walker and his team in Dubai. Then I ended up in a forest, where this old wizard dude named Merlin was tellin' me that I was gonna be a hero in this world."

He glanced over to Pelayo and chuckled.

"First day on the job and I fucked up royally..."

Connors stepped up.

"Pri'at...when you...when you got fragged, did you see someone else?"

Gobbi nodded.

"Yeah, there was this really pretty lady named the Weaver of Fate...she was the one who said that I could become a hero."

Connors looked over to Bradley.

"Sir, I know I was with you when Long gave the orders to retreat. I vividly remember it. But I also remember being one of the last of the Damned 33rd in Dubai...at the Gatehouse by the Bridge. I was there when Walker killed me. And afterwards I saw someone, I thought she was my guardian angel or somethin'. But she said the same thing to me, that I could be a hero..."

Bradley was about to respond when Pelayo spoke up.

"Okay, the weird afterlife shit I get, I met someone too, although it was a guy. But what in the actual fuck are you guys talking about with this mutiny shit?"

The lieutenant gave a start. All this time, he hadn't told the Marine about what went down in Dubai.

"Captain, what had you heard about the Damned 33rd?"

She shrugged.

"That you guys were stranded in Dubai after the sandstorms got worse. That's it."

Lt. Bradley looked over to Gobbi, who spoke.

"Well, that's part of the story. What really happened was before the storms got worse Colonel Konrad found out the authorities weren't going to help the civilians stranded in Dubai, so he volunteered to stay behind and organize an evacuation. The Pentagon refused his request, and ordered him to take the 33rd and leave. He defied that order, and we stayed behind to help."

He stopped.

"Konrad really thought the Evacuation would work, but it ended in complete failure. His command staff, led by LTC Long, tried to convince Konrad to leave Dubai, but by that point the Old Man was dead set on not abandoning the civvies. Long and roughly three companies tried to go AWOL with some salvaged civilian airliners, some hotheaded company commander still loyal to Konrad escalated things, and..."

He saw Pelayo's eyes widened in horror.

"The Damned 33rd went to war with itself, with Long and the men loyal to him on one side, and Konrad and the remaining 33rd loyal to him on the other. The TL;Dr version is that Konrad and his men prevailed, he executed his command staff to make an example out of them. The Mutiny and its after-effects broke Konrad, he committed suicide shortly afterwards, but not before ordering us to send out a broadcast beacon to the outside world. Then, the rest of the surviving 33rd hunkered down trying to keep the civvies and waited for help to come."

The Marine was silent for a long time, then uttered one word.

"Fuck."

Bradley nodded.

"Yeah, that about sums it up. Anyways, it appears that some of us sided with Konrad, only to be killed afterwards, and then were given a second chance."

He saw Connors yawn.

"Look, what I said earlier, I think we should all get some shuteye and reconvene tomorrow to plot our next move."

He started to make his way back to the shelter by the oasis, but paused by Gobbi.

"For what it's worth I'm sorry, private. Sorry for doubting your loyalty."

* * *

 **(the next morning...)**

"Um, El-tee? Sir?"

Bradley was still half-asleep as he heard what sounded like Mayfield calling out to him. He started awake as someone shook him.

"Wake the fuck up, lieutenant! We gotta situation!"

The lieutenant opened his eyes, and grabbed his weapon at the sight that unfolded before him.

The entire oasis was surrounded by heavily armed men, including dozens of crossbowmen that were aiming at the 33rd soldiers. Bradley cursed as he saw PFC Mayfield being held by one of the Royal Guards. The private shrugged sheepishly.

"I...kinda fell asleep, sir. And when I woke up these guys already got the drop on me..."

Bradley heard Pelayo snort.

"And it gets better. Last night Aladdin managed to give Davis the slip and stormed off to the palace, and got his ass captured and condemned to death for accosting the princess in her chambers."

The lieutenant slowly followed the Marine as he made his way to where the rest of the soldiers were, taking whatever scant cover the oasis offered.

"It appears as though our street rat friend sold us up the river, to curry favor with the sultan, and more importantly just to save his own neck..."

Torrez, who was aiming his UMP-45, shrugged.

"Well, he is a street-savvy thief."

Gobbi was crouched by Davis, but recognized the massive man leading the army. It was Fareed, the captain of the Royal Guards. He saw the private, and pointed his sword at him.

"That _giaour_ must be taken unharmed, and unshackled, the princess's orders. On her orders, if so much as a hair is harmed on his head, if he receives so much as a cut or bruise on his fair skin, then the one who inflicted that injury shall suffer twenty lashes from my whip for each offense."

He pointed to the other 33rd soldiers.

"The rest of those foreign invaders are expendable."

Fareed's gaze fell on Pelayo, who leered at her.

"Her, she is to be led to the sultan's harem, after a stopover in my chambers."

Gobbi stood up.

"Well, that was quick...an' you weren't kiddin' when you said the princess was determined."

The massive man gave a self-deprecating smile.

"I did warn you to leave quickly, young man."

The private returned the man's smile, although it was not as genuine.

"So, what makes you think you're gonna walk outta here, bub? You got us outnumbered, but we ain't goin' quiet like."

Fareed nodded.

"'Tis true, young man. But, I have a feeling unless you have significant spares the munitions you utilize for those thunder weapons are depleted, otherwise you would have opened fire on us sooner."

He looked at Gobbi.

"You will be overrun, and 'tis true many of my men will die taking you. But take you we will, and when we have taken your companions, they will not be killed. My men are on orders to shoot to wound and incapacitate. Your companions will be taken into custody, then tortured, tormented until they will be begging Allah for release."

He took a step forward.

"Since you are a soldier yourself, I think you do not want such a fate for your companions."

Pelayo raised her hand.

"Ah, actually, if it's all the same to you, I'll take my chances with the arrows and finish myself off with my M9..."

Fareed continued.

"If you leave now, and come quietly we can avoid this bloodshed, I will give you my word that your companions will be treated fairly, that none shall suffer torment."

Gobbi glanced back to Bradley, who summed it up with two words.

"Well, shit."

The private then looked over to Pelayo. The Marine glared at him.

"Got any more bright ideas, pri'at?"

Gobbi thought for a long while, then a light came on.

"Ah...anyone got a phone?"

Lt. Bradley stood up and reached into his pocket. As he approached Gobbi he pulled out an smartphone.

"Yeah, I still got my Iphone, but good luck getting a-"

He stopped as he powered it up.

"Hey waitaminnit, it's got signal!"

Gobbi pulled out a small slip of paper from one of the pockets on his plate carrier, then looked back over to Fareed.

"Okay, big Guy, you win. I'll come quietly. Just give me a few minutes with my buddies."

He looked around.

"Could you give us some space, y'know? We're not going anywhere."

Fareed looked puzzled. His right hand man Hamid spoke up.

"Don't! It must be a trick!"

The captain cuffed his man.

"Be silent, fool!"

He then addressed Gobbi.

"Very well, but no tricks! You are completely surrounded, and your engines of transport, including your metal dragon, are out of your reach..."

He gave the signal to fall back. As they retreated Hamid spoke up again.

"You do realize that Princess Jasmine, may Allah continue to bless her angelic beauty, said that if you failed in your task then you would receive fifty lashes."

He winced as Fareed dope-slapped him.

"If you speak again I'll put a crossbow bolt in your knee."

* * *

 **(Meanwhile in a Forest in the English countryside)**

Arthur scampered up to his mentor, the wizard Merlin. Both had different appearances now, as the wizard had changed them both into squirrels, as part of Arthur's education. But by now, with both of them being on the receiving end of unwanted attention from the females of the species, it was clear that the boy's fun meter was pegged.

"Merlin! I'm tired of being a squirrel, it's nothing but trouble!"

The wizard, who had taken the form of a grey squirrel, huffed.

"You've got trouble? Look at my-er that is look back there!"

Arthur could see that the granny squirrel was quite smitten as well, but before he could respond, he heard some unfamiliar jingling noise. Merlin paused in his rant.

"Oh bother, who could it be now?"

He reached into a fur pocket and pulled out a small flip phone.

"H-hello, Merlin speaking?"

He paused and adjusted his glasses.

"Oh, hello Pete! How are things?"

There was another pause, and he gave a start.

"Oh...OH! Oh dear me, that's terrible!"

He readjusted his pince-nez as he continued speaking.

"No, no, don't worry about it Pete. I'll think of something, just stay put."

Still obviously flustered he shut his mobile.

"What is it, Merlin?"

"Oh dear, one of my other charges has managed to get himself in quite a pickle..."

He started to walk off, but was stopped abruptly as the granny squirrel was still holding onto his tail. She chortled seductively as she gave his bushy tail another tug.

"Great elephants! Madam, I don't have time for this!"

He tried pulling his tail free, but stumbled and fell off the branch of the tree that they were perched on, and crashed twenty feet below into a large bush. The granny squirrel scampered down to the ground, but could still hear his voice.

"By George! I've had enough of this nonsense! ALAKAZAM!"

In an atom bomb explosion, Merlin literally sprouted out of the tree, imposing and terrible as a human, causing the granny squirrel to scream.

He glared at the squirrel.

"There! Now you see? I'm an ugly, horrible, grouchy old man!"

Merlin turned to leave, only to hear Arthur calling out.

"Wait, what about me?"

He looked up, seeing the Wart still in squirrel form being glomped by the female squirrel.

"Er, Wart? I'm afraid you're going to be on your own for a bit."

He pulled out his wand.

"But Merlin!"

"I'm sorry boy, but I have pressing business!"

The wizard looked over to his owl familiar.

"Oh Archimedes? Look after the Wart, would you? I'll be back in...a while..."

With that Merlin the wizard raised his wand, and in a puff of smoke, disappeared.

* * *

Fareed was waiting by the edge of the oasis. It had been almost twenty minutes. One of his men, out of boredom had climbed on top of the foreigner's air chariot. He heard Hamid speak up.

"We should go and check on the young foreigner, captain."

But his commander shushed him, as he saw a rider in the distance arrive from the city. The horse galloped right up to Fareed, and breathlessly handed him a scroll. He read the message, and a smile split his scarred face, revealing blackened, crooked teeth.

"Ah, excellent, her majesty the princess has received the good news, and I shall be richly rewarded!"

He waved the rider towards the camels carrying water, then signaled his men.

"Come!"

As he crested the hill, he called out to the young foreigner named Gobbi.

"Young man! It is time to go, I've just told the princess the good news!"

Fareed stepped over the outcropping and stopped dead in his tracks. The oasis was deserted.

No, he thought to himself. It's not possible!

He ran down to the oasis, searching around. The shelter, the palm trees, even the rocks around the water source. The young foreigner named Gobbi, the comely _houri_ , and all of his companions were gone. He muttered to himself.

"And now I'm in deep shit..."

He heard Hamid running towards him with a cadre of men, calling out to him.

"Captain! The air chariot, and the mechanized wagon! They have disappeared!"

He stopped as he saw the pathetic expression on the massive man's face.

"And where are the foreigners?"

"Gone."

In spite of the situation, a grin creased Hamid's face.

"I guess the joke is on you, Captain!"

That snapped Fareed out of his trance. The large man walked over to one of the soldiers with Hamid.

"May I see your weapon, janissary?"

The man offered the head guard his weapon, who took it and shot a bolt into Hamid's knee, causing the man to cry out in pain.

* * *

 _(AN: And thus ends the Exiles' training mission, which I can safely say ended in complete failure. What can I say, trying to play the hero, Call of Duty-style in a Disney story won't end well. What I was going for (and this will be a recurring theme throughout the story)_ _is a deconstruction of the power fantasy that pretty much every boy had who watched Aladdin or any of the Disney movies as a kid, wouldn't it be cool if I were a badass soldier SI who was able to help the hero and possibly flirt with the princess? Well, the failed training mission showed what would happen. And if anyone thought the street scenes were reminiscent of movies like Black Hawk Down, well, that wasn't by happenstance, either :)_

 _Thankfully Merlin was able to pull their asses out of the fire, but rest assured, this isn't the end of it. Bonus points to everyone who got all the references in this arc, including the Skyrim and Mel Brooks references...Oh, and also those who are alumni of ZSNT might notice that someone else was piloting the Sea Hawk. Well, for starters Tebby in this verse is one of the Exile officers that was executed by Konrad. Honestly me naming one of the three Little Bird soldiers in ZSNT Bowles and Tebby was critical research failure on my part, since at the time I hadn't acquired the Intel Item that named all the executed Exile officers. And honestly I couldn't fit Cpl. Tebby in this early. I probably will introduce him later in the story, but not now. Next chapter should be up soonish, we've only got a couple more before reuniting Long with his men, and then we can officially begin the story with Exiles vs Damned in the Disney world. Until then, don't touch that dial, and don't forget to follow/fav and comment!)_


	10. Three Kings

_**Bio Profile: Sergeant Major Wolfe**_

 _ **Faction: The Exiles**_

At 52, Battalion Sergeant Major Eric Wolfe is the second-oldest soldier serving in 'the Damned 33rd', except for Konrad himself. Born in 1960 in Denver, Colorado, he grew up idolizing his father, who served in the original 33rd at the Battle of the Bulge. He joined the Army right out of high school in the summer of 1978. He graduated from basic training that fall, his exemplary record as a recruit earned him the rank of Private First Class. He was deployed to South Korea after boot camp, spending the first two years of his career as an '11 Bravo' infantryman serving in the 3rd Infantry Division.

Determined to the point of being hard-headed and possessed of a keen mind, Wolfe applied for Jump School at Fort Benning, like Captain Pilton. Unlike Pilton, Wolfe's determination earned him respect among his peers and superiors, and rose through the ranks, making E-5 in 1983. That same year, he was transferred to the 508th Parachute Infantry Regiment and got his first taste of combat during the Invasion of Grenada. During the action he was wounded by Cuban grenade shrapnel, leaving him with a distinctive scar on the right side of his head and earning his first Purple Heart.

After Operation Urgent Fury Wolfe requested a transfer back to the 3rd Infantry Division, where he was promoted to Staff Sergeant and throughout the rest of the Cold War served in West Berlin. In 1991, while serving as a platoon sergeant Wolfe participated in Operation Desert Storm, the first Gulf War. On February 27th, 1991 during the Battle for 73 Easting his platoon's Bradley IFVs were outflanked by an enemy tank surge, and came under fire from Iraqi tanks. When the lead IFV was struck by a tank shell and burst into flames, Wolfe leaped into action. Under heavy machine gun fire from the enemy tanks, he dismounted his Bradley and rushed to the burning vehicle. With no concern for his own safety, Wolfe pulled the two surviving crewman and his own badly injured platoon leader from the burning vehicle. For this action, he would be awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor by President George Herbert Walker Bush.

After the Gulf War, Wolfe continued serving with the 3rd Infantry Division, before making First Sergeant and transferring to the 10th Mountain Division in 1998. The following year, he deployed to Bosnia, followed by a tour in Kosovo in 2000. Wolfe served in the Invasion of Afghanistan in 2002 and Iraq the following year, before finally making Sergeant Major in 2004 and was honored to be assigned to his father's old unit, the 'the Damned 33rd'.

SGM Wolfe quickly gained a reputation as a no-nonsense staff NCO, tough but fair. In one instance involving four junior enlisted men in 3rd Platoon, Kilo Company (a unit known for trouble-makers) who had been caught in a 'noodle incident' involving strippers, farm animals and two illegally-obtained kegs of beer, Wolfe had the group of offending privates hauled up before him at 0500 the next morning. He then gave them a choice, either receive an Article 15, along with the accompanying NJP's and marks on their permanent record, or opt for 'incentive training'. Said incentive training, which all the privates opted for, involved having to sweep all the sunshine off the sidewalks until sundown, and then each had to take turns saluting a tree in the middle of their company's barracks yard until the early hours of the morning. While saluting the tree each private had to thank the tree for making up for the oxygen they, the privates, were currently stealing and wasting. The privates did not turn into repeat offenders.

In spite of his gruff demeanor SGM Wolfe cared deeply for his men, and did stick his neck out for them on more than a few occasions. One such time was when then SPC Omar Torrez who was denied PDTY for the birth of his wife's second child, due to clerical error. Denied leave, Torrez was caught by Wolfe attempting to go AWOL, and instead of summoning military police the sergeant major personally drove the private to the hospital in his own vehicle, and filed the appropriate paperwork after the fact. Because of this balance Wolfe earned the admiration and respect of the bulk of the 33rd's officers and men, and became close friends with both then-Major Long and Lieutenant Colonel Konrad, who was then serving as the unit's executive officer.

In the 2005 the convoy attack that resulted in the death of the 33rd's then-commander Colonel David Harvie and his command staff, Wolfe was again wounded while pulling the wounded to safety. In doing so, he was shot in the chest by an insurgent bullet, collapsing a lung and nearly killing him. For his heroics, he received a Silver Star and his second Purple Heart. Like Konrad, Wolfe took the fall of Kabul very personally, having trained and bled alongside many of the Coalition Forces who helped stabilize the battered country.

Unlike Konrad, Wolfe felt that staying in Dubai to help civilians was against military protocol, but supported Konrad, setting aside his personal feelings about the situation so as to set an example for the men. However, in the brutal aftermath of the failed Evacuation, Wolfe couldn't escape the turmoil that washed over the entire unit. As tempers flared and 'the Damned 33rd' declared martial law, Wolfe watched the growing schism between Konrad and his staff with unease. On one hand, Wolfe privately agreed that the 33rd needed to cut their losses and pull out of Dubai. But on the other, he put his loyalty to his commander above his personal opinions. All the while, he watched as his battalion began coming apart at the seams.

Lieutenant Colonel Long personally approached Wolfe with his plan to leave Dubai with the three companies loyal to him, aware of the Sergeant Major's conflicted state. Despite agreeing that the 'the Damned 33rd' needed to go, Wolfe refused to abandon Konrad and the bulk of the unit, primarily out of concern for the men. However, he had initially agreed to keep quiet about the plan. But, as time passed, Wolfe's conscience and his military bearing conflicted, until, somehow, Bill Pilton found out about his involvement and blackmailed Wolfe into revealing what he knew. It was this act that set the 33rd firmly on it's path to damnation.

When Pilton's confrontation with Long sparked the Mutiny between the Exiles and the Damned, Wolfe's heart was shattered. Unable to stand the idea of his men killing each other, he became withdrawn and distant, spending most of his time in the now empty command center, still going through the motions as if nothing had changed. He also began and kept a detailed log of his life in Dubai, which was later recovered by the rescue team sent to look for Captain Walker's team.

When the Exiles were finally defeated, Wolfe outright refused to attend Konrad's execution of his mutinous command staff. Perhaps he considered Wolfe's decision the 'right' choice, because Konrad didn't press the issue, and Wolfe for his part could see that his commander was broken as well. As a result, when Major Gavin and Lt. McPherson burst into the sergeant major's quarters a few days later revealing that Konrad had committed suicide, Wolfe was saddened, but not surprised.

After Konrad's suicide leadership of the 33rd fell to Major Gavin, who put Wolfe and his battalion 1SG Robert Crosby in charge of organizing the 'Damned' and the surviving 'Exiles' into something resembling coherent units. Having something to do helped Wolfe, but he was a changed man, a hollow shell of his former self. His coping mechanism was largely comprised of overseeing missions assignments and enforcing the Grooming Standards as part of the 33rd's rules of occupying Dubai. He personally oversaw the first stage of Operation Reclamation, that of evacuating the civilian refugees from the sunken ruins of the Radisson Blu Hotel, aka the Nest. He was killed by an avalanche of sand caused by Captain Walker when he used a commandeered .50 cal emplacement to shatter the hotel's massive window. Wolfe's quick thinking did save the lives of 47 civilians, who managed to escape in the the convoy before the hotel collapsed. Alas, his sacrifice turned out to be in vain due to Walker's actions at the Gate.

* * *

 _(AN: Well, I meant to get this out sooner, but had post-holiday stuff to take care of, that and I had to get caught up on my other writing project which I had been neglecting. Hopefully these bio profile's aren't too annoying, I just want to use them as a means to flesh out the characters in this story. And please do comment or PM me and let me know what you think of the story. Speaking of characters, this chapter will be introducing some more players in the 'Exiles' faction, and from there we will be jumping right into the next 'fairytale' arc. I have several arcs already sketched out, but if you guys have any requests, let me know. Now, on with the show!)_

* * *

 **(June 26th, 2012, Radisson Blu Hotel, aka 'the Nest', Dubai, 1329 hours local time)**

"...Alright, Mr. Singh, now I need ya to flex that elbow and put pressure against that cotton swab for about five minutes, okay?"

The medic, a young private with a permanent lopsided smile, administered an intravenous drip to an older gentleman in a tattered business suit and wearing a turban. PVT. Davis was one of the many medics assigned in the 33rd's latest operation against the Insurgents. Code-named Operation Reclamation, it had been in the works for weeks, but its launch date was moved up due to the Insurgents ending the ceasefire in Dubai. The CIA-backed civilians had ambushed Alpha Patrol doing recon in the Outer Zone, and had taken Lt. McPherson hostage.

The first phase of the operation was to root out the armed insurgents, which the Damned 33rd had done handily. The second phase was more important, and much more sensitive, to provide humanitarian aide to the unarmed civilian population that had been living in the squalorous conditions in the Insurgent's base, a ruined hotel. Several teams of combat medics were dispatched to set up temporary aide stations in the hotel's lobby, where the civilians could be processed and from there transported to 33rd's refugee camp at the Gate.

The medic reached into a crate next to him and gave the man a water bottle.

"Here's some water, if you go follow that big guy over there, he'll direct you to your transport truck."

Davis nodded over to the other soldier, a tall Latino who was sporting SGT stripes and a bristly mustache. He was going down the line of civilians asking questions about their medical histories and allergies. When the sergeant finished he went back to the medic, who had finished placing a bandage over the needle area. The older man hesitated.

"B-but where are you taking us?"

SGT Torrez interjected.

"Sir, this place isn't safe anymore. The Insurgents have started attacked us again, if the War starts again you'll need to somewhere more secure."

The older man's eyes lit up as he pulled on his frayed suit jacket.

"Ah, this is the sanctuary of Konrad? Is he there as well? Will he lead us out of this hell?"

Both Torrez and Davis exchanged a look.

"Ah, yeah...just...just follow that line of people and one of the soldiers will direct you to your truck. We'll get you to safety."

After the civilian left, Davis shook his head.

"Shit Torrez, I forgot how many of these civvies still worship the Old Man. It's crazy."

The medic sat back down as his NCO responded.

"As long as it keeps them compliant, I say let it be, man."

He took a drink from his camelback.

"Any word from McPherson?"

Torrez shook his head.

"Negative, we've been getting sporadic radio chatter and reports of some CIA kill team that's been wrecking havoc on our scouts. Nothing solid."

The medic looked around Torrez's shoulder and chuckled.

"Uh-oh..."

The sergeant cocked his head.

"What is it, Davis?"

Davis shook his head.

"Um, Sergeant Torrez be advised, ol' Big Bad Wolf is coming up on your six and coming in hot!"

Torrez rolled his eyes.

"Shit..."

A gruff, rasping voice growled at him from behind.

"Torrez! About face, I want to see yer ugly mug..."

He turned and faced an older soldier wearing the same ACU's as the rest of the 33rd soldiers. The only thing that distinguished the newcomer was his grim, craggy features that were permanently creased in a scowl, and the SGM insignia on his dark green plate carrier. Sergeant Major Wolfe glared at Torrez, which the junior NCO returned with a grin.

"Problem, Sar'ent Major?"

The senior NCO's frown deepened, and he responded in his low froggy voice that was accustomed to shouting.

"I thought I told you earlier to po-lease them cunt hairs off yer upper lip, Torrez. Or did you think that I predicated that with the phrase 'if it pleases your Majesty'?"

Before Torrez could let out a snarky retort, a third voice spoke up.

"Problem, Sar'ent Major?"

The sergeant major turned and saw a young officer approaching wearing a boonie hat and a balaclava. Lt. Gordon pulled off his face covering, and the senior NCO saluted him. Gordon returned the salute and nodded over to Torrez.

"As you were. What seems to be the malfunction, Sergeant Major?"

Wolfe glanced over to the junior NCO.

"Sir, I was merely informing Torrez here about his blatant disregard of the Grooming Standards."

Gordon made a wry smile and shook his head.

"Really Wolfe? We're battling the Insurgents and this phantom CIA kill team and god-knows-what else, and here you're busting balls about grooming standards? What's next, you're going to smoke Davis because he didn't blouse his boots or tuck his shirttails in?"

The scowl deepened on Wolfe's face.

"With all due respect, sir, you of all people should know the importance of discipline here in Dubai. I wrote those Rules of Occupation for a reason, and why it's so damned important we follow them. Today it's un-groomed faces and rampant moo-stache hairs, tomorrow it's breaking ranks and looting!"

He gestured to the sand-swept landscape outside the ruined hotel.

"Hell we still have a few of our own boys acting fucking crazy, running around hopped up on amphetamines and poking people with their goddammed bayonets!"

Wolfe paused, seeing the look in Gordon's face. He then took off his cover and wiped sweat from his face.

"Ah, shit! I'm sorry for ranting, sir."

Gordon didn't respond but looked over to Torrez.

"Sgt. Torrez, be advised that effective immediately I want all the NCO's to be clean-shaven. That includes you."

The sergeant saluted.

"Roger that. Permission to continue with Operation Reclamation?"

"Permission granted, carry on."

Gordon looked back at Wolfe.

"Happy, Sergeant Major?"

The sergeant major didn't respond, but allowed himself a small smile. The lieutenant looked back at the crowd of refugees.

"Then continue supervising the evac, I have to report back to Base on some intel we've recovered about our CIA friends."

Wolfe gave a curt nod and walked off, probably in search of another victim, Gordon thought. He heard Davis speak up.

"Hey, El-Tee, any more word from Crosby? Or is team Grey Fox even too elusive for the famed Zulu Squad?"

The lieutenant smiled.

"Last radio check I got from Iceman they were closing the net. Only be a matter of time."

He looked back to the steady stream of refugees.

"In the meantime what I said to Wolfe applies to you and everyone else, It's imperative we get these civvies to safety. From what I've heard of this CIA kill team, they're shooting up anyone in their path. If you see them, you shoot to kill."

Meanwhile, Wolfe was in the middle of chewing out another private for his five o'clock shadow, when his radio lit up.

 _"Shit! McPherson's team has been wiped out! Repeat, that CIA team has taken out our recon team, they're firing on us from higher ground!"_

The sergeant major looked up and saw gunfire on the upper levels of the hotel. He wasn't sure who it was, but whoever they were, they were firing on the 33rd and as such were hostile. He looked at the small crowd of civilians cowering in the corner by the concierge desk. Less then fifty still had to be processed. He turned to the soldier.

"Change of plans, soldier. Get those civilians into that truck."

The soldier, a private named Gobbi, hesitated.

"B-but Sarge, they haven't been checked or anything."

Wolfe glared at the private.

"In case you haven't noticed, pri'at, there's people shooting at us. I don't want these civilians caught in the crossfire. Take them to the Gate, we'll get them processed there and then transported to the 33rd's camp by the Marina."

The private saluted, and he along with several other of the 33rd soldiers started herding the civvies into several transport trucks. As Wolfe oversaw it, a loud voice came over some speakers that were strung up in the lobby.

 _"I know there's a lot of you askin' the same question, why? Well...I'd like to ask you the same thing..."_

The senior NCO cursed to himself. That goddamned civvie Robert Darden, aka the Radioman, always has to throw his fucking oar in, he thought to himself.

 _"There was no reason for any of this. We made a truce. You broke it. We gave you chance to surrender, and you ignored it. Why? Why? I mean, why would you do that?_

 _You chose this. Not us. The only peace I can offer you now is this: the perfect tune to play you off stage..."_

Then the speakers started blaring out 'Bad Vibrations' by the Black Angels. Wolfe shook his head. That goddamned Radioman always had a flair for the dramatic. Wolfe's radio began picking up 33rd chatter, as they engaged this three-man team.

 _"...we need motherfuckin' covering fire! Engage now!"_

As he listened he could make out the gunfire, and his trained ears could make out the CIA team's individual weapons. One was a heavy gunner, firing what sounded like a M249 SAW, the other was a sniper. It boggled Wolfe's mind that this team was using American military hardware. Most of the CIA-backed teams the 33rd had encountered up to that point were using AK's or other former Eastern bloc hardware. Then again, those teams were also locals. Once again the sergeant major wondered how in the hell the situation in Dubai had degenerated to such a degree that you had Americans fighting Americans. But, having survived the Mutiny, it wasn't as much of a stretch. He heard more chatter through the static of his radio.

 _"...set up a defensive parameter and send in more reinforcements, we're bein' overrun!"_

Based off that, it didn't sound good. That CIA kill team must have been ex-special forces, to be giving the 33rd such a beating.

"What the fuck is he doing?!"

Wolfe heard one of the soldiers shout and he looked up. One of the kill-team, the leader by the look of him, had commandeered a .50 cal 'Ma Deuce' turret on the 4th floor mezzanine gallery. Rather than fire on the 33rd, he was directing fire from the machine gun onto a massive window that ran the entire height of the ruined hotel. Behind the glass window sand had accumulated up almost to the 10th floor. It took Wolfe only five seconds to parse out what the CIA goon was doing. He turned his head and barked out orders to the nearest soldier.

"Get those civilians outta here!"

When the soldier, a specialist, stared at Wolfe the older NCO shoved him roughly.

"I said hurry the fuck up! That fucker's trying to bring the desert down on all of us!"

That snapped the specialist out of his fugue. The specialist turned and barked frenzied orders to a small squad of soldiers nearest to one of the trucks that was almost full and at the front of the convoy. They began herding the civilians into the trucks. The specialist slammed the tailgate shut and radioed Wolfe.

"Sergeant Major, this truck's full, what're your orders?"

Wolfe turned his attention back up, the kill-team leader was still firing the commandeered Ma Deuce at the window. Several of the 33rd soldiers had also figured out his intent and had opened fire on his position. The sergeant major also noted grimly that cracks had already started to form in the massive window. It had been built to withstand hurricane-force winds, but not a steady barrage of .50 caliber bullets. Thin fingers of sand were already streaming through the bullet holes. He keyed the mic on his radio.

"Specialist, get that truck and get the hell out of here..."

He could hear the hesitation in the specialist's voice through the static.

"B-but Sergeant Major-"

"That's an order, specialist. We'll be right behind you, get going!"

Wolfe heard the truck's engines firing up, sending up twin plumes of black diesel smoke as the driver gunned the engines. The remaining three trucks were getting loaded up, and the pace had begun to take up a more frantic pace. The civilians were no longer hesitating, they must have sensed the urgency in the soldier's demeanor. Wolfe got into the truck at the rear of the column, it's engine was already idling. He didn't need to give the order, the driver had already put the truck into gear and was taking off almost before Wolfe had a chance to shut the door properly.

Ahead of them was a hole where the hotel's concierge lounge was, it was an opening that led to the desert outside. The truck had only gotten fifty feet from the entrance when the entire ground shook from a massive explosion. Wolfe looked into the rear-view mirror and his heart sank. There was a wall of sand, roiling like a tsunami wave.

"C'mon Henderson! Punch it!"

He didn't know who shouted the command, but it didn't matter. He barely had enough time to make peace with the fact that at least one truck was going to make it out of the Nest when the avalanche of sand slammed into the truck. Wolfe blacked out before the truck was rammed into the hotel's wreckage, but before he did, he thought he heard a voice.

It was a musical, feminine voice that whispered in his ear.

 ** _"You will not perish, I will not allow it..."_**

Wolfe had no chance to react, there was a blinding flash of light. For a moment the old NCO was disoriented, and he felt weightlessness. For a moment he was taken back to his parachute training, it was a familiar and unsettling feeling; like free-falling. Then, as abruptly as it started it stopped, and Wolfe's vision cleared. He was in a bright white light, and could make out a figure approaching him. As it approached he heard the same voice echo in his ears.

 ** _"Eric Wolfe, you were the dedicated soldier who carries a heavy burden of guilt unearned..."_**

As his eyes adjusted, Wolfe could see the figure was tall and lithe, with long flowing hair. As she (and the old NCO could see that it was, in fact female) got closer, he could make out a beautiful but sad face, with large green eyes. She paused in front of Wolfe, and continued to speak in that same musical voice.

 ** _"You have done and will continue to do more good..."_**

Wolfe just stared at her, partly in disbelief and partly because, in spite of his advancing years he was entranced by her otherworldly beauty. A warm smile played on the the beautiful creature radiant features, she cocked her head to one side, and her long, flowing tresses swished with her graceful movements.

 ** _"Do you know where you are, Eric Wolfe?"_**

The sergeant major's lips pursed into a small smile as he glanced about him.

"Well, seeing as how I'm not seein' my ex-wife, I know this place ain't Hell."

That caused the lady to place a delicate hand to her mouth and giggle musically, as if the old NCO had told her the funniest joke ever. It sounded pleasing, even though historically Wolfe hated it when women laughed, especially his ex.

 _ **"No, you are quite correct, it isn't the Dark Realm. T'is my realm, the Celestial Empyrean, and I am the Weaver of Fate. Here I pluck out threads that are about to be cut, and re-weave them into other Tapestries...Your pattern had ended in that horrid sand-ridden hell, so I chose you for an new purpose, one that will be for good..."**_

Wolfe chewed on his lower lip for a moment as he considered the Lady's words.

"So, if I'm parsing out your fancy talk, I was about to die, and you're instead gonna stick me, where? Some fairy tale where I battle dragons?"

Once again the Lady giggled. Yep, I could get used to that laugh, Wolfe thought to himself as the Lady continued.

 _ **"You are more right than you know, Eric Wolfe."**_

She came closer to him, until her large green eyes were the only thing Wolfe could see. He felt her slender hands on each side of his face, and heard her voice in his ears.

 _ **"You will be of invaluable help to the heroes of this Tapestry, and you will be a force of Good..."**_

The Lady then tilted his head down, and placed a kiss on Wolfe's forehead. The old NCO felt an electric charge in that kiss, and in a flash he opened his eyes, as if just waking from a deep sleep.

At first Wolfe looked down, and saw he still had his gear and weapon.

"Damn, Sar'ent Major, I though chu were gonna sleep through the whole damned drive, now."

Wolfe turned his head and for the first time realized he was sitting in the passenger seat of a military truck, a HUMVEE to be precise. The driver was a burly man with an oak leaf cluster insignia on his plate carrier, and a grin on his face. Wolfe finally found his voice.

"Gavin, er- I mean Major, sir?"

Major Bruce Gavin grinned at the stunned sergeant major.

"Shucks now, Eric, y'all don't need to stand on rank...Not here anyways..."

Wolfe looked out through the HUMVEE's armored windshield. They were driving through some sort of forest, although Wolfe couldn't tell where, it was clear they weren't in Dubai anymore. The trees and greenery didn't look like anything stateside, either.

"Where's here, sir?"

The major didn't respond right away, and Wolfe heard another voice behind him in the backseat.

"A long way from Dubai, Sergeant Major."

Wolfe turned around and the normally stoic senior NCO's jaw dropped. Sitting in the back to the right of the turret platform, was a man wearing ACU's like Wolfe and Gavin, with a slight stubble and dark hair greying at the temples. The officer was also smiling at Wolfe's reaction, and he heard Gavin chuckle.

"C'mon, sir tell me what ol' Big Bad Wolf's reaction is, I can't see it!"

LTC David Long grinned.

"The sergeant major looks like his eyeballs are going to pop out of their sockets, major."

He turned his attention to the senior NCO.

"What's wrong, sergeant? You look like you just saw a ghost."

Wolfe's jaw finally started working, and he spoke.

"Colonel? Sir, you were dead...I saw, I mean I wasn't there, but..."

A shadow crossed Long's features.

"To answer your question, yes, I remember being executed."

He gestured around with a gloved hand.

"And yet, here we all are..."

Wolfe was about to respond when he heard Gavin speak up again.

"Hey sir, I'd say yer not gonna believe this, but given what we've all seen..."

Both Long and the sergeant major turned. Out in the windshield there was a figure, no scratch that, two figures. One was a Marine, clearly identified by his desert MARPAT utilities, wearing a jarhead cap on his head, a large duffel bag slung over one shoulder and carrying a weapon in his hand. He was also holding up a cardboard sign with the words scribbled on it.

It said Bakersfield?

If that looked odd to the trio of soldiers, the second figure was even more bizarre. He was an older man, with a long white beard wearing blue robes and had a conical hat with an owl perched on the top. He was carrying a simple small leather suitcase and holding his thumb up, as if hitchhiking.

Wolfe was still trying to process what he was seeing, when he heard Major Gavin speak up again.

"Well, looks like things are gonna get a lot more interesting, fellas..."

* * *

Glossary:

11 Bravo: US Army MOS designation for Infantry, 11B

Article 15: a section of the Uniform Code of Military Justice allowing commanders to carry out discretionary punishments without judicial proceedings.

NJP: Non-judicial punishment, allows commanders to administratively discipline troops without a court-martial.

PTDY: Permissive temporary duty authorization is an benefit that allows for soldiers to receive excused extended absences for personal reasons, including (as in the case of Torrez) medical emergencies.

* * *

 _(AN: Well, there you have it, the final players on the Exiles' side have entered the field. Next chapter will be up soonish, at least sooner than this last update, and will segue into their real first mission. Hopefully you guys are ready, because it's gonna be a wild ride. Until then!)_


	11. Adapt and Overcome

_(AN: First of all I would like to wish a happy Memorial Day to all my American friends and fans, and to all the fans who are members of the military or have family members who are military. It is rather fitting that I get a chapter out today, given the source material, silly Disney source material notwithstanding..._

 _Well, that was quick, wasn't it? Actually I had about 50% of this already written (because I cut it from the previous chapter for pacing purposes). This chapter will officially start the Frozen crossover, aptly called_ Operation: Arandelle _. I have decided to cut out some of the Disney stories from my original outline notes just in re-examining them because some of them just wouldn't work well with human counterparts (like The Lion King) and some of them just wouldn't work (like Pinocchio). And trust me, I'm not going to pull GOT and do a crappy ending. Although, my main complaint is that they could have done that ending, but it would have gone on for another season and something tells me the cast and crew wanted outs._

 _But I digress...so thank you guys again for all your support and interest in this story. It is much more heavy in the military theming and military jargon/slang than my previous story, but I hope it isn't too much for the civvies or non-English speakers to follow. I try to keep stuff in the Glossary section for that reason whenever possible, but some stuff does slip through the cracks._

 _So, having said all that, it's time to say those magic words: On with the show!)_

* * *

The peacefulness of the secluded forest in medieval Northern England was disturbed by the rumble of a military truck following a narrow path through the dense underbrush. Everywhere in the truck's path all forms of flora and fauna fled from its bright headlights and loud, snarling diesel engine.

Dusk had fallen, and the forest had taken on an eerie, almost haunted look. The trees themselves seemed to take on a life of their own, their branches seemed like reaching arms with long, spindly fingers reaching and brushing up against the traveling vehicle. But none of the truck's occupants were easily frightened, having seen much worse things. The ghosts of Afghanistan, and more recently Dubai were far more terrifying than shadows and phantoms in a forest.

The HUMVEE itself was at full capacity, passenger-wise. Maj. Bruce Gavin was at the wheel, driving and getting directions from one of the passengers. SGM Eric Wolfe sat shotgun, his M4 at the ready and squinting through the windshield, scanning for potential threats. LTC David Long, leader of the 'Damned 33rd's Exiles faction, sat in the rear passenger seat directly behind Wolfe. GySgt Paul Jackson, USMC, had volunteered to be in the HUMVEE's turret, manning its platform-mounted M249 machine gun. And, sitting behind the driver was Merlin the Magician, giving directions to Gavin.

"...and to answer your question Major, magic is not a toy that you can just use at will..."

Long shook his head and chuckled.

"Still doesn't explain how the great wizard Merlin from the King Arthur legends needed a lift just as we happened to be passing by. And with a Marine, no less."

The mage turned his attention over to the Exiles' leader.

"I told you, Lieutenant Colonel Long, I was in need of a ride because I got sidetracked..."

"Ah-ah-ah, you got lost, Merlin. Admit it!"

Long turned and stared in shock, the wizard's owl familiar had just spoken. SGM Wolfe was too busy scanning for threats to even notice the owl. Merlin glanced up at the owl, still perched on his peaked cap that had managed to get folded over in the cramped confines of the HUMVEE's passenger compartment.

"I told you, Archimedes, I didn't get lost, I got sidetracked on my way back from the Empyrean."

"The what?"

SGM Wolfe finally realized the conversation and was looking over his shoulder at Merlin, his scarred face creased into a quizzical frown.

"Alright, Sergeant Major, you know that place you just came from? Before coming here, I mean."

Wolfe thought back to the bright light.

"You mean that place where the angel-lady was?"

Merlin smiled.

"Yes, you are quite correct, that was the place I came from...and I take it by the 'angel-lady' you of course mean the Weaver of Fate?"

"You know her?"

"Of course I know her. She is quite a charming lady, and very knowledgeable. Although I wasn't there to see her, but rather her employer."

This time it was Long whose curiosity was piqued.

"Who are you talking about?"

"The Man Upstairs, so to speak. The one who is pulling all the strings and turning all the gears in this world, Colonel."

"Never heard of him."

"I have!"

Major Gavin and LTC Long glanced up at the Marine in the turret. Gunny Jackson was grinning down at them.

"I've met the guy. Dude looks like a cross between Tom Bombadil and Earnest Hemingway, wears Hawaiian shirts and goes by Country Ollman?"

Merlin nodded.

"Exactly." Jackson continued as he ducked to avoid a low-hanging branch.

"I'll admit it, he's nothing like I'd expect a god, or whatever Being runs this 'Verse."

"Ah yes, well I'm glad you made his acquaintance. But, to get back to the conversation, I required transportation because coming and going to the Empyrean is not an easy task for mere mortals, even ones of great magical ability such as myself."

He chuckled to himself.

"Although I overshot my course correction, I had enough prognostication to appear directly by the path of your vehicle."

Merlin looked up and poked his owl familiar with his wand.

"So I was **not** lost."

He looked back down and over Major Gavin's shoulder.

"Aha, we're close. Just take a slight left over there through the clearing..."

As the HUMVEE turned off the main path, the forest became less dense, and as the headlights pierced the gloom, Gavin could make out a dark shape in the distance. The major squinted through the screen, then turned over to Wolfe.

"Sar'ent Major, can you lend me your NVG's?"

Wolfe handed over his night-vision lenses to Gavin, who stopped the truck and shifted into park. He then leaned forward and pressed the NVG lens to his right eye, trying to make out what was ahead. The night-vision pierced the gloom, rendering everything in different shades of green. The dim light that emanated from the shape was now a bright green, the shape coalesced into that of a medieval castle, complete with moat and drawbridge.

As he scanned it over Gavin could see although it was a large castle, it was also in a state of bad disrepair. Several of the turrets were falling apart, and the tallest tower looked so rickety that looked as though it could be toppled by a gentle summer breeze. The major could also make out two bright shapes slowly bobbing in and out from behind the castle's crenellated parapet.

Major Gavin leaned back in his seat and handed the night-vision goggles back to Wolfe.

"Sir, it's a castle alright, looks like we have guards, should we be expecting trouble?"

Jackson pulled back the charging handle on the M249 SAW.

"If they want trouble-"

But Merlin interrupted the Marine.

"I appreciate your enthusiasm and Marine training to kill anything on sight, but that won't be necessary..."

The wizard looked over to Long.

"I am already a guest at this castle, and we are expected."

Both Gavin and Wolfe looked over to Long, who gave a small nod, then spoke.

"Gunnery Sergeant Jackson, what our wizard friend said is ratified by me. Standard rules of engagement for making diplomatic first contact apply. Keep your weapons slung and nobody does shit unless I give the order, understood?"

He received a "Yes, sir!" from both Gavin and Wolfe, and a less enthusiastic "Roger that" from the Marine. Satisfied, the leader of the Exiles nodded to Merlin.

"Alright, lead the way."

Gavin shifted the HUMVEE back into drive, and the military truck lurched forward. As they approached the castle took shape and became visible even without aid of night vision. They pulled out of forest and into a clearing just in front of the moat. He looked over to Long and raised his eyebrows quizzically. His CO just shrugged.

"Try honking the horn, it always worked at the gate of the Green Zone."

The major pressed the horn button on the steering wheel, and the HUMVEE let out a shrill beep. At first there was no reaction, just the sound of the diesel engine idling. Then, after about five minutes there was a creaking and clattering noise as the drawbridge slowly lowered down, while simultaneously the wrought iron spiked gate opened up. Gavin grinned.

"Well, I guess it did work."

The HUMVEE slowly crept over the drawbridge, the timbers groaned under the weight of the military truck, but held. After passing through the gate it opened up into a courtyard. There were two things that caught LTC Long's attention, one, the courtyard was deserted. A history buff, Long had read in the Middle Ages that castles were manned by a garrison of at least a company-strength of footmen and archers to defend it from invaders.

This castle, aside from the two sentries, had no garrison. The other thing that caught his attention was a familiar-looking shape in the far corner of the courtyard. It was a helicopter, although in the dim light he could only make out that it was some form of the UH-60 Sikorsky military helicopter, a Black Hawk or the equivalent.

So, Long thought to himself, we're not alone in this world. Interesting.

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard a door opening, and saw Merlin exiting the HUMVEE. As Long and the others also opened their doors and exited the vehicle, the wizard straightened up his conical cap and addressed the soldiers.

"Now, I would like you to follow my lead, and for Heaven's sake don't do anything rash..."

They nodded, and the three US Army soldiers and Marine followed Merlin into the castle. As they approached the steps that led up to the castle's great hall, Jackson noticed another familiar object in the corner. It was a tall rectangular box painted desert tan. He nudged Gavin and nodded.

"Check it out, this place can't be too medieval, it's got a Porta-John."

Merlin must have overheard Jackson, because the wizard chuckled.

"Yes, I included something that you would be familiar with, given that indoor plumbing won't be re-invented for another 800 years."

They climbed the steps up to a large set of wooden doors bound in rusted iron. With little effort Merlin pushed the doors open, revealing the castle's great hall. It was probably quite grand and majestic back in its heyday, but like the rest of the castle it was now run-down and dilapidated. There was a long table where a rotund man with a ruddy face from which a set of bristly, walrus-like whiskers protruded. The man glared at Merlin and spoke up in a gruff voice.

"What's all this, now Merlin? More unwanted guests?"

Merlin smiled indulgently.

"Oh, don't be rude, Sir Ector. May I introduce Lieutenant Colonel David Long, Major Bruce Gavin, Sergeant Major Eric Wolfe, of the United States Army, and Gunnery Sergeant Paul Jackson of the United States Marine Corps."

He turned to Long.

"Colonel, this is our host Sir Ector."

The rotund noble harrumphed gruffly.

"More guests? Are you trying to put me out by bringing in every sort of oddity from your travels to my doorstep?"

The wizard turned to leave, and addressed Long as if the noble hadn't spoken.

"Make yourselves at home, I will be right back. I have a surprise for you."

Long raised an eyebrow.

"A surprise, what sort of surprise?"

Merlin smiled enigmatically.

"Well, it wouldn't be much of a surprise if I told you then, wouldn't it?"

Wolfe grumbled to himself.

"I hate surprises, for the record sir."

"Duly noted, Sergeant Major. But I'm afraid we're at the mercies of our guide."

He saw the wizard nod approvingly.

"Precisely, colonel."

Merlin called over to the noble.

"Please show them every courtesy."

Sir Ector folded his arms.

"And why should I do that?"

"Because, one they've had a long journey and it's the polite thing to do, two they're ill-tempered soldiers from the 21st century with advanced weaponry that could take over your castle in a matter of minutes, and three, because, I, Merlin the Magician, said so!"

With that Merlin raised his arms dramatically and disappeared in a puff of smoke. After a long while Sir Ector finally sighed.

"Well, alright I suppose you will be famished from your journey. Come to the kitchen, I'll have the cook make you something..."

Gavin took a step forward.

Now, hold it right there now! Y'all said kitchen?"

When the noble nodded, Gavin continued.

"Man, I've been livin' off Vomeletes and nasty-ass Chicken Fajita MREs for the last six months..."

He un-slung his rucksack and started pulling out various cans of seasonings.

"Tell chu what, Whiskers. You give me access to y'all's kitchen and I'll whip up a pot of delicious gumbo!"

* * *

"...And I'm tellin' you, El-tee it was a mistake to agree to help Romeo get his treasure..."

Lt. Bradley glared at Torrez. In the background, PVT Davis, PFC Mayfield, SSG Connors and PFC Pete Gobbi were watching the situation unfold. True to the wizard's word, as soon as the Captain of the Guards and his men disappeared over the dune, all of the soldiers were engulfed in a bright flash of light, and when their eyesight returned, they were in the courtyard of some large castle. Off the side their Sea Hawk Navy helo was parked safely in the corner. At the time they were just grateful to be out of Agrabrah. Captain Pelayo, their Marine pilot, had excused herself, muttering something about it freezing her tits off in this cold.

The grouchy noble who was the proprietor of the castle had gruffly issued them up to their guest quarters, a large, drafty room that was probably a secondary dining room on the third floor. After the sense of relief had worn off was when the recriminations and assigning of blame started.

"What was a mistake, sergeant, was sending a trigger-happy NCO to a volatile sitch...If you hadn't gotten yourself into that mess we wouldn't have had to come in an' rescue your stupid ass!"

PFC Gobbi took a step forward.

"Sir, please, with all due respect..."

Both Torrez and Bradley turned on the private, their past animosities gone, having found a common enemy.

"And you, private! What part of 'make the rally point' didn't you get?"

Gobbi was caught off-balance by the lieutenant's wrath

"Hey! That princess was in trouble, what was I supposed to do? Just let her get captured and have god-knows what done to her?"

"What you were supposed to do was follow the storyline!"

All of the soldiers turned their attention to the new voice. Merlin the Magician, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, was now standing in their midst. His thick, bushy eyebrows were now knitted into a frown as he regarded the soldiers one right after another.

"I understand all of you are soldiers, but this isn't Dubai, you have to think outside the box and not just as soldiers. If you approach every problem as a soldier with a weapon then it's no better than having a hammer in your toolbox and approaching every problem as a nail..."

He turned his attention to Lt. Bradley, who was standing ramrod straight as if receiving a dressing-down from Col. Konrad himself.

"Lieutenant, I am particularly disappointed in you! You are an officer, the men look up to you. Instead of charging in with your guns blazing, you should have...well..."

Merlin paused in his rant, as if so angry he had forgotten what he was going to say next. Flummoxed, he readjusted his glasses and continued.

"..Well, anyways, you should have shown more restraint."

He looked over the rest of the soldiers.

"Now, I want you all to think long and hard about what you did, and how you could have done that differently. If you are to be heroes in this new Tapestry, then you need to act more like heroes..."

The wizard's demeanor then changed, and a slight smile crossed his face, causing his whiskers to upturn.

"On a more pleasant subject, I have a special surprise for you downstairs, but I want you to wait a few more minutes."

His gaze fell on Gobbi.

"I have to speak to Pete for a moment, in private."

Torrez and the others glanced fearfully at the private, but slowly trooped out of the room, leaving Gobbi by himself with Merlin. Gobbi, for his part, looked terrified. He tried to remember the last time he was this bowels-voiding scared, and had to think back to boot camp at Fort Lost in the Woods when he was busted for smuggling contraband. But right now, the private still thought he'd rather face the fury the dreaded 'shark attack' than an angry wizard.

But, to Gobbi's surprise, as soon as the soldiers left, Merlin just let out a long sigh. The wizard gestured with his wand and pulled a chair closer, then sat in it, seemingly deflating in the process. He pulled off his glasses and cleaned them with his long white beard.

"Oh dear me, boy, what a mess you caused back there. I didn't think this at the time, but I do declare that you will prove to be more of a challenge to me than the Wart will be..."

Gobbi finally found his voice.

"Ah, for what it's worth, I'm real sorry about causin' you so much trouble, sir."

Merlin chuckled to himself.

"Oh, if only you knew, my boy. I believe you soldiers call it a 'charlie foxtrot' in your timeline."

He looked up at Gobbi.

"It was quite beyond my powers to fix, the story had already deviated so far from it's original storyline that it had swerved into bad fan-fiction material. In the end, I had to call upon the Higher Power for help."

"Y'mean the Weaver of Fate?"

The wizard shook his head.

"Oh no, this was even beyond Her powers. No, I had to appeal to Country Ollman, the Creator of this Tapestry."

He paused.

"And it took a good deal of convincing. He wanted to see how your romance with the princess would unfold, not to mention the rivalry with Aladdin. He actually thought it would be fun."

Merlin shifted in his chair.

"In the end, I was able to convince him by saying that it would result in 'lemons' something that He not only cannot and will not write, but is also forbidden by the Pantheon."

Gobbi cocked his head to one side.

"What's a lemon, sir?"

Merlin looked up an gave a start, flushing pink in the process.

"Oh! Er, ah, never you mind, my boy. Suffice it to say that I was able to convince him to give me the power to make the necessary changes to the Tapestry."

He started to get up.

"Er, could you help me up, Pete?"

The private nodded, and took Merlin's hand to help him out of the chair. As soon as Gobbi's hand touched the wizard's, he saw a brief flash, and then saw that he hand he was holding was a withered, blackened claw. He almost let go in shock, but Merlin, already on his feet, let out a rueful chuckle.

"Something that Country Ollman had warned me about. Mere mortals, even powerful magicians and soothsayers like myself were never meant to wield the powers of the gods, not without consequences, anyways."

He saw the horrified look on Gobbi's face, then waved the wounded hand dismissively. In a flash, it had changed back to a normal hand.

"Oh, don't worry about me, boy. It'll heal. And it will take more than that to down the great Merlin."

The wizard started for the door.

"Come, I want to show you that surprise..."

* * *

 **(Meanwhile...)**

Sir Ector glanced down at the bowl set in front of him. It was some sort of stew, made with a thick brown broth and had several different vegetables and meats in it. He took a spoonful and gave it a cautious sniff. It smelled delicious, with all sorts of exotic seasonings emanating from it. Most of the food prepared by his cook was fairly bland, seasonings such as salt being very expensive and hard to obtain. Finally curiosity got the better of him and Sir Ector took a bite.

Major Gavin stood right at his side, wearing an apron and watching the noble with anticipation.

At first, nothing happened. Then Sir Ector's face turned red until it was the exact hue as his hair, then he opened his mouth and exhaled fire. As coughed up a storm the noble spluttered.

"Gadzooks! What are you trying to do, burn me to death? What is in that devilish stew?!"

Major Gavin boyish features creased into a frown.

"S'my shrimp and andouille sausage gumbo, my family recipe! Y'all better not be dissin' my momma's gumbo, host or no host I'll plant my boot up yer ass!"

SGM Wolfe, who was seated at the table as well, took a bite of the Louisiana gumbo in front of him and shrugged.

"For what it's worth, sir, tastes alright to me..."

He took another bite, then reached for the bottle of Tabasco sauce on the table.

"...bit bland, though."

Long interjected himself between the English noble and the raging Cajun officer.

"Now, now Major, you have understand Sir Ector isn't Cajun."

"I can tell that just by lookin' at him! Hell I even toned down the spiciness to 'Damned Yankee' level..."

"Well, I see that I can't leave any of you alone for even a few minutes..."

Everyone turned their attention back to the great hall's entrance, where Merlin had re-appeared. Sir Ector was the first to respond.

"Merlin! You crazy old goat! One of these...soldiers is trying to kill me with some sort of demonic potion disguised as a stew!"

Merlin held up a hand to silence the noble.

"Sir Ector, I would warn you against insulting Major Gavin's gumbo. As he indicated, it is a family recipe. And there's nothing demonic about it, it just has several different kinds of spices in it."

He looked over his shoulder.

"...And I'm afraid I have to ask the three of you away from you delicious dinner, albeit just for a moment."

* * *

"Lieutenant Colonel Long!"

PFC Gobbi and the rest of the soldiers stood in awe. They had assembled in the courtyard, and were awaiting orders from Merlin. But who emerged from the interior of the castle was not the wizard, but three other 33rd soldiers. Specifically LTC Long, Major Gavin, and SGM Wolfe. A broad grin spread on Long's face as he saw all the soldiers assembled.

"SGT Torrez, SSG Connors, PFC Mayfied, PVT Davis, and last but not least, Private First Class Pete Gobbi."

He glanced over to Gavin.

"Looks like a family reunion, right Major?"

The major nodded.

"Roger that, sir! Hey Chuck! Good to see ya again!"

Connors returned the grin.

"Same here, sir!"

Gavin jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

"Well, I hope y'all brought yer appetites, `cuz I just whipped up a big ol' batch of gumbo. An' the local yokel's palate ain't refined enough to appreciate it."

Some of the soldiers started towards the stairs, but stopped when Wolfe spoke.

"Hold what ya got, soldiers."

He started down the stairs and barked out an order."

"'Ten-Huit!"

All of the soldiers in the courtyard stood at attention. Wolfe got to the bottom of the stairs, then spoke again.

"At-ease..."

He first walked up to Torrez, and glared at him. The junior NCO, for his part just grinned at the sergeant major.

"'Sup, Big Bad Wolf?"

Wolfe's glare intensified.

"What was that?"

"That's your callsign, isn't it, Sar'ent Major?"

"It most certainly isn't! An' if I find the fuckstick who pinned that nickname on my I'm gonna skin his nutsack..."

He leaned in.

"An' fer the love of Kerrrist po-lease them moo-stache hairs off yer upper lip!"

Torrez grinned.

"Sorry, Sar'ent Major. We didn't exactly have access to mirrors and razors in our previous mission..."

Wolfe took a step back and addressed the assembled soldiers.

"Well, I'm gonna whip all of yer flabby asses into shape, come hell or high water."

He heard a throat clear, and looked at at LTC Long.

"Ahem, that is to say, do whatever the fuck you want tonight, eat up, drink up, stick yer pathetic little peckers in post-holes for all I care, but come 0500 tomorrow, all yer asses are mine."

He glanced up again at his CO and Major Gavin.

"Including yours, with all due respect, sirs."

Long shrugged.

"Well, based off what Merlin told me, he says we have a big mission planned tomorrow."

He straightened up.

"Gentlemen, what SGM Wolfe said is ratified by me. Enjoy yourselves tonight, but be prepared for training at 0500 and a mission debriefing at 1300 hours."

LTC Long grinned.

"This sounds like it's going to be fun."

He turned to leave.

"Dis-Missed!"

* * *

Glossary:

Vomlette: The dreaded Veggie Omelette option in military MRE's. Along with the Chicken Fajita, it is said to be the most disgusting MRE on the menu.

Shark-Attack: Boot Camp terminology for when multiple drill sergeants gang up on one recruit and simultaneously shout.

* * *

 _(AN: Well, that was a brief chapter, but next chapter will be our first real fairy tale mission, wherein the Exiles (and the Damned) will wreck merry havoc in the frozen world of, well Frozen. We all know how the movie turned out with just a older sister with volatile magical powers, and a younger naive sister with only a dimwitted moose and his even more dim sidekick. But how will it turn out with two factions of Army soldiers, with grudges against each other, armed to the teeth with 21st century tech, cold weather gear and chocolate? Well, follow and fav, comment and stay tuned to find out!)_


	12. Operation Arendelle, Part 1

_(AN: So, here we are. A quick bit before I launch into this new chapter. The fairy tale chapter titles are going to be not SO:TL achievements (as you might have inferred from this new chapter) and they will be about 5-7K words long and updates will be bi-monthly to monthly. This is mostly due to the fact that I have to do research into the particular Disney story and sketch it out so that it meshes nicely with my narrative._

 _Apart from that, yay! Now we get to get into the Disney-verse and see how much merry havoc the Exiles and the Damned will wreck in it. Starting with...Frozen. I know it sounds weird, paring what amounts to a princess movie geared towards girls and a brutal TPS version of Heart of Darkness/Apocalypse Now, but believe it or not both of them share something in common. They're both rather severe deconstructions of their respective genres, as I've alluded to before Spec Ops: The Line deconstructs all the 'America Saves the Day' tropes of the Call of Duty genre, and Frozen deconstructs many of the traditional Disney fairy tale tropes about Love at First Sight and whatnot. Let's see how Long's Exiles fare, shall we? Not to mention they finally get to confront their 'Damned' counterparts, as well. And trust me, it's not going to be pretty._

 _On with the show!)_

* * *

 **(Location: ? 2134 hours local time)**

Elsa thought she would never be afraid again. The former Queen of Arendelle, now the Snow Witch, was cowering in fear in her own palace, a castle of ice that she had constructed on the top of a mountain. She thought that isolating herself from her subjects in Arendelle would mean she would never have to hurt anyone, or see anyone again. All that changed, when those strange men in green showed up. Briefly she thought back to her little sister Ana, and she wondered if she would ever see her again.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud _crack!_ followed by _ping!_ as a bullet ricocheted off the low wall of ice she had conjured up for cover.

 **(BGM: SO:TL OST 'The Battle')**

Fearfully she peered around the corner and the sight that unfolded before her caused her breath to catch in her throat. Her once magnificent palace was now in ruins, explosions had torn large holes in the outer walls, the ornate icy floor was now soaked dark purple with partially congealed blood. Bodies lay strewn about the main floor, the bodies of Prince Hans' henchmen, all dead. All killed by the men in green.

More deafening explosions reverberated throughout the palace's interior, as now the green men were fighting themselves. She coughed as the acrid smell of cordite entered her delicate nostrils, and gagged at the choking stench of death. Elsa could see off in one corner by the main entrance a large puddle where the remains of her guardian, Marshmallow, had been melted by a fire-grenade. She couldn't tell if the men in green were shooting at each other or aiming for her.

One of the men in green looked her way, his face concealed behind a scarf and darkened glasses. Instantly she ducked behind her cover, hoping she hadn't been spotted. But it was a short-lived hope. Elsa heard the man yell out.

"Grenade out!"

A cylindrical grenade clattered at her feet, but before she could react it exploded with a loud bang and a blinding light. Disoriented, she stood up trying to relieve the ringing in her ears and clear her vision. Large spots like purple amoeba swam across her eyes, just in time to see the soldier point his weapon at her. Instinctively she threw up her hands, and let loose a blast of ice.

She shook her head free of the spots, and saw the damage her magic had caused. The soldier's weapon, a short repeating rifle, had a large chunk of ice clogging the barrel. It had also torn away the soldier's scarf and glasses, revealing a boyish visage with olive skin and green eyes. For a moment Elsa wondered how such a youth could be a soldier and a killer, then he turned towards her and she screamed, because it revealed that the other side of his face was horribly burned. The boy frowned, and his scarred face contorted into a ferocious scowl as he snarled out a single word in Albionian.

"Bitch!"

He drew his sidearm, leveling it at her. Elsa saw that her life was hanging by thread, one that was about to be severed. She squared her bare shoulders and stared the young man in the face, trying not to look at his firearm but at the same time not wanting to close her eyes, and awaited her inevitable fate.

And then the soldier was tackled to the ground by another man in green, wearing the exact same clothes, the youth's weapon skidded away on the icy floor. They wrestled on the slippery, cold ground, each scrabbling for the handgun. Her rescuer had initially had almost reached the gun, but then the scarred youth grabbed him. The other soldier turned, and elbowed the youth in the gut, causing him to grunt, and he reached out, pulling off his opponent's scarf in the process. All anger fell from the young soldier's scarred face, his green eyes widened in shock.

"El-Tee? Lt. Bradley?"

2nd Lt. Bradley stared at the 'Damned' soldier, then he recognized him.

"Coop? Pri'at Cooper, is that you?"

Cooper stared at the Exile officer.

"Sir? What the fuck are you doing here?"

Bradley looked down at Cooper's gun in his hand, then back to his UMP-45 that was frozen.

"I could ask the same question, Coop."

The 'Damned' soldier shrugged.

"We're here to complete the mission, sir!"

When Cooper saw Lt. Bradley didn't react, he pointed at Elsa.

"C'mon, sir! You've seen her in action, she's dangerous! She's gotta be put down!"

Bradley frowned at the private.

"Cooper...I'm only going to tell you this once. We're not here to fight you, but nobody's killing her."

"B-but our orders!"

"Your orders were to neutralize a threat. Same orders as mine."

Bradley glanced back at Elsa and his eyes softened.

"But...I can tell you she's not dangerous."

He directed his attention back to Cooper and his expression hardened.

"Ours didn't involve a kill-order."

Cooper was about to respond when the lieutenant's radio crackled to life.

 _"Misfit One, this is Misfit Three, how copy?"_

Bradley keyed his radio.

"Misfit Three this is Misfit One, go ahead."

 _"Misfit One be advised I have a visual on the ice palace and am inbound, ETA 5 mikes."_

The lieutenant stood up and nodded in assent.

"Roger that. I will pop smoke for visual on the secondary extract."

 _"Solid copy, Misfit Three out."_

He looked over to Cooper and pulled the private to his feet.

"In five minutes our ride's gonna be here, along with reinforcements."

Bradley held up the private's M9 and offered it to him butt-first.

"It would behoove you and your companions to fall back."

PFC Cooper glanced over to Elsa, still trembling in fear, then back at Bradley. Finally he accepted his weapon, holstered it, then grabbed his UMP-45. As he turned to leave, the private spoke.

"Sir, just so you know, this isn't over. Wild Bill, that is...Captain Pilton is at the helm of this op, and he's gunning for Long, sir. If you're under the colonel's command, that would put all of you in his sights..."

He paused.

"I'm just sayin' watch yourself out there, sir..."

With that Cooper retreated back to where a dark-skinned soldier was taking cover, and said something to him. Whatever was said had the desired effect, the soldier shouted orders to the rest of his cadre, and the remaining 'Damned' soldiers slowly withdrew from the palace. Elsa was still in shock and watched the last one leave. Then Bradley crouched down to her eye level.

It's okay, our ride's on the way! I'll keep you safe, I promise!"

Elsa just hugged the lieutenant tightly, weeping into his plate carrier. Lt. Bradley just held the sobbing snow witch, surveying the carnage that his Exiles and the Damned had wrought, wondering how in the actual fuck this mission went from bad to worse.

* * *

 **(72 hours earlier, somewhere in a f** **orest in Sheffield, South Yorkshire, 1239 A.D., 0514 hours local time)**

SGM Eric Wolfe glared at the assembled soldiers in front of him. Dawn was just starting to break on the horizon over the treeline, and a faint light was creeping into the courtyard where the Exiles were standing in formation. Wolfe glanced over to a tall soldier standing at attention, wearing just warm-ups and a grey Army tee-shirt. Although not in uniform, the man still exuded an air of authority. The sergeant major nodded to Long.

"Sir, by your leave?"

LTC Long smiled and nodded.

"As you were, Sergeant. Carry on."

Wolfe's lined face creased into a slight smile, which disappeared almost as quickly as it came. He directed his attention to the rest of the Exiles, and he glared at them.

"Alright you buncha fucknuts, listen up! This morning we got a full dance card, starting with some warm-up PT, and then we're going into range practice."

He stood at attention.

"Platoon, Left...Face! Double-time around the courtyard...Go!"

As the Exiles started at a brisk pace doing laps around the castle's courtyard, Wolfe continued to bark out in his best drill sergeant voice.

"Lt. Bradley, Torrez, Mayfield, Connors and Davis! Ol' Spinach Chin told me you idiots burned through over a thousand rounds of ammo in that last cluster fuck in Agabrah! That was fuckin' stupid! The enemy got the drop on you lot because you fuckheads ran out of ammunition!"

He paused in his rant.

"Staff Sar'ent Connors, move your fat ass and keep up with the rest of the formation! An' you Davis quit laughing, or I'll smoke your ass until these stone walls sweat!"

He directed his wrath at Gunnery Sergeant Jackson.

"Gunny Jackson, slow the fuck down! You're embarrassing my men!"

He saw the Marine smirk.

"An' wipe that grin off your face, Jarhead!"

Wolfe then continued with his bellowing rant.

"...If you shitstains had good weapons discipline and were maintaining the Grooming Standards those hajis wouldn't have had a snowball's chance in Basrah!"

When the Exiles had finished a full five laps around the courtyard Wolfe gave the order to stop. All of them were puffing and sweating, in spite of it being a cool English summer morning. Even LTC Long was breathing hard, leaning against Major Gavin. The major for his part, aside from a small bead of sweat, was in good spirits and joking with Jackson about taking a nice morning stroll. Wolfe interrupted them all.

"Alright, ladies! Take a knee, drink some water and change your socks! We're gonna do target practice in five!"

He looked over to PFC Pete Gobbi, who was wheezing and struggling for breath.

"Pri'at Gobbi! You're up first, since you're the hero of this epic clusterfuck tale. We're gonna start with rifle range practice so grab your weapon!"

Gobbi glanced about him.

"Sergeant Major! I forgot my weapon!"

Wolfe glared at the private.

"Forgot your weapon?! Did you forget your head, or your cock and balls when you woke up this morning?"

He sighed in exasperation, then glanced over to PFC Mayfield who was wearing black utes, black tactical boots and a matching tee shirt. The private had been given his Zulu Squad kit from Merlin the night before, when he questioned on the particulars of how the wizard obtained them Merlin had demurred, but Mayfield was just happy to have his armor back.

"Private Mayfield, lend Pri'at Gobbi your weapon!"

Mayfield nodded.

"Roger that, Sarge!"

Gobbi walked over and accepted Mayfield's SCAR-H, then made his way over to the target practice range, consisting of a set of old rusty suits of armor down range on the far end of the courtyard. But as the young private took his first step he tripped over an overgrown root, falling and accidentally discharging the assault-rifle's underslung grenade launcher. The RPG fired with a loud thump, sent it's explosive missile sailing in an arc and landing at the base of the castle's tallest turret. The rickety structure shuddered, waking up the tower's sole inhabitant.

Inside the tower, Merlin stirred in his bed, and woke up in a daze. He mumbled absentmindedly.

W-What? Archimedes, wh- where are we?"

His owl familiar pulled himself out of his overturned birdhouse with some difficulty.

"In a tumbled-down old tower in the most miserable castle in all of Christendom, surrounded by violent and vulgar soldiers from 21st century America. At your invitation, I may add!"

Merlin, still in a daze, muttered to himself.

"The...castle?"

Archimedes glared at the wizard and folded his wings in exasperation.

"Don't you even remember inviting the Damned 33rd here?"

"The Damned...33rd?"

SGM Wolfe's voice carried up from the courtyard.

 _"Dammit dumbass! Can't you remember anything?"_

Merlin frowned at his owl familiar.

"I say, that was uncalled for!"

Wolfe's voice continued.

 _"Private, that safety should be on at all times! You secure that weapon immediately or else I will have you sweeping the dust out of this courtyard until it's clean is that clear?!"_

Comprehension dawned on Merlin's face.

"Oh, yes the Damned 33rd."

He got out of bed and made his way over to the window. Down in the courtyard the 33rd were practicing their sharpshooting skills. The _crack!_ of weapons being discharged echoed upwards towards Merlin's vantage point in the tower. He chuckled to himself.

"Well, it would appear that the Damned 33rd are preparing for their next assignment, but I wonder if their next assignment is ready for them."

* * *

 **(3 hours later)**

When Merlin finally appeared in the castle's grand hall, the Exiles were already at breakfast, consisting of large steaming bowls of hearty porridge laced with bits of sausage. He noted with amusement that Major Gavin was passing several bottles of Tabasco sauce for seasoning purposes. LTC Long noticed the wizard first and stood up.

"Good morning sir! Come to join us for breakfast?"

Merlin smiled and shook his head, while his owl familiar perched on his pointed hat hooted indignantly and flew off.

"No, thank you although I would like to join your company all the same."

He directed his attention to PFC Gobbi.

"But first I need to borrow your Private Gobbi for about five minutes, if that is alright."

Long nodded and the young private finished off his bowl and stood up.

"Roger that, sir!"

The wizard smiled.

"Please, it's just Merlin. And this won't take long."

The private grabbed his barracks cover and made his way up the stairs to where Merlin was standing.

"Hey Merlin! Y'know Miss Tinny-er I mean the Weaver of Fate? I actually saw her in my dreams last night!"

The wizard chuckled indulgently.

"Really? And what did She say do you, my boy?"

Gobbi continued excitedly.

"Well, actually it was what she showed me, sir! I got to see Iceman-I mean Sergeant Crosby. Apparently he's in another magical place where he gets to be the hero."

LTC Long raised an eyebrow.

"You are of course referring to our battalion 1SG Crosby, not someone else?"

The private grinned.

"Yep, apparently he's in one of those worlds like in those Japanese cartoons that PVT. Heiner liked to watch. Y'know, the harem shows where tons of busty chicks fight over a lucky guy?"

Davis spoke up.

"I call bullshit, Gobbi! Ol' Iceman wouldn't fall for that shit!"

Gobbi shook his head.

"Ain't no bullshit, Corey. Crosby was there, real as I am standin' here, in his Zulu Squad kit an' everything!"

He grinned.

"As a matter of fact, I think the Weaver's carryin' a torch for the 1st Sar'ent...lucky guy."

Merlin then smiled at Gobbi.

"Was there anything else?"

Gobbi rubbed the back of his shaved head nervously.

"Uh...yeah, somehow that princess from Agrabah found me, an' I had to disappear for a bit..."

He shook his head.

"Crazy how that gal was able to find me, good thing she didn't."

The wizard's smile broadened.

"Well, as it turns out, she did find you, Private Gobbi."

The private's face blanched at the wizard's revelation, but Merlin held up a reassuring hand.

"Not to worry, my boy, everything will be fine."

With that, Merlin stepped aside, revealing two new arrivals to the grand hall. At first Gobbi didn't recognize the couple, as they were wearing resplendent silk robes embroidered in gold and embellished with purple accents. The girl approached him, and Gobbi finally registered who it was.

Princess Jasmine was as beautiful as ever, her skin glittered and exuded an aroma of fine perfumes and spices, her face fully made up and as captivating as ever. She smiled at the private and spoke in a musical voice.

"Pete Gobbi of the rank of Private First Class, it gladdens my heart to finally see thee again..."

She reached out and stroked his cheek. Her full red lips pursed slightly as she continued.

"I...I am not certain how to say this softly to thee, my lovely fair-skinned _farangī_..."

She glanced back at her companion, whom Gobbi recognized as the street-thief. Like the princess he was clad in fine silk robes and looked more like a sultan than a thief. Aladdin gave him a sheepish wave.

"Good to see you again, _effendi_. And I am sorry for trying to slash you with that sword."

Gobbi was still trying to process this when he felt a small hand gently turn his face away. Now having his undivided attention, the princess continued.

"I know thou didst want me, Pete Gobbi of the rank of Private First Class. But I am afraid that the buds of our romance will never have the chance blossom. I hope thou canst forgive me."

She glanced over to Aladdin.

"The diamond in the rough that thou spokest of has proven himself to me, and we art to be unified in wedlock."

The princess smiled and leaned in, assaulting Gobbi with her feminine scent and the various perfumes on her skin.

"But we will always have our time in my private chambers."

Apparently Aladdin heard that comment, because the young man frowned at Gobbi.

"What was that?! Did you take her virtue?!"

Princess Jasmine turned sharply towards her beloved, and her perfect features creased into a frown.

"Hush! Or thou will not taste the sweetest nectar of my peach in our wedding chamber this night!"

Aladdin started to say something, but then the princess glared at him, and he relented. Torrez and Davis exchanged an knowing look.

"Not even married yet and she's got his balls in her purse..."

Davis chuckled.

"Yep, I guess we know who's gonna be wearin' the pantaloons in that household..."

The princess nodded in satisfaction, then turned her attention back to Gobbi, and her hazel eyes softened.

"Can'st thou forgivest me for breaking thy heart, my lovely fair-skinned boy?"

Gobbi glanced behind him and saw Torrez and Davis with big shit-eating grins on their faces, doing their best impression of a peanut gallery. He also saw that Lt. Bradley and SSG Connors shaking their heads and chuckling to themselves. Even LTC Long couldn't help but smile. The only one who wasn't grinning was SGM Wolfe, who had his usual dour expression and looking as he was sucking on a particularly sour lemon. Gobbi looked back at the beautiful princess in front of him and finally found his voice.

"Uhh...okay. Yeah, cool no worries. I'll get over it."

She smiled and gave him a peck on the cheek.

"It gladdens me that this burden has been lifted from my heart. Farewell, Pete Gobbi of the rank of Private First Class."

With that the princess turned to Merlin.

"Soothsayer, thou mayest transport me and my beloved back to our world, and I thank thee for granting me this favor."

Merlin gave a low bow.

"It was my pleasure, your majesty."

Merlin raised his wand and after uttering an incantation the couple disappeared, leaving the 33rd to razz and poke fun at Gobbi. Davis was the first and nudged the private in the ribs.

"Man, way to go my man Pete! She's smoking hot!"

He gave Gobbi a lecherous grin.

"Although I still would have at least asked for a parting five minute smash quickie...or at least take her back to the Porta-John for a gloryhole BJ."

Mayfield chimed in.

"...Or at least a handjob, Jeezus fuck Pete you sure you don't have the hots for Aladdin instead of her?"

Gobbi shook his head and went back to his place at the table.

"Fuck you, guys."

Merlin watched the vulgar exchange, still chuckling with amusement. Finally he descended and took a seat next to Long. The leader of the Exiles nodded at the wizard.

"You sure you don't want some chow?"

The wizard shook his head.

"No, although I did want to debrief you on your next mission, if you don't mind."

Long pushed away his finished bowl and took a sip from a pewter tankard of ale. He made a face, apparently English ale was still a bit strong for American stomachs. He coughed and set down his tankard, then looked over to Wolfe. The sergeant major gave a small nod, then barked out an order to the other soldiers at the table.

"Exiles! Quit stuffing your faces, put down your utensils, close your suck-holes and open up the holes in the sides of your brain housing group!"

When the table fell silent, Long nodded to Merlin.

"Go ahead and fill me in."

Merlin pulled out his pipe and began lighting it.

"This particular mission, unlike your training mission, involves diplomacy and protection."

He finished lighting his pipe and blew a few smoke rings.

"Make no mistake about it, gentlemen. Lives hang in the balance, and in this case there is no reset button or do-over."

The grand hall was filled with a heavy silence, but it was SGM Wolfe that broke by speaking up.

"What're we up against, Spinach-Chin?"

Merlin chuckled at the older NCO's jib, and continued.

"There is a young lady who has lost her parents, left to care for her younger sister. She is feeling very isolated and is extremely vulnerable."

The wizard glanced down at the mouthpiece of his pipe.

"Oh, and there is the small affair of the fact that she is also about to crowned queen of her kingdom."

Long nodded slowly.

"Okay, so why not just call on her royal guards, why bring us in?"

Merlin continued.

"She also has a certain...infirmity, one that her enemies will exploit and utilize to seize control. This mission requires men who have experience with protection detail and preventing assassinations, as well as diplomacy."

He looked directly at Long.

"It is up to you to lead your men in this mission, to thwart her enemies and keep her safe from all threats."

The wizard paused.

"I should also point out that there will be certain...individual challenges for you in this mission."

His gaze briefly fell on Lt. Bradley, then on Mayfield, and then finally on Long.

"Each of you will be tested, and it is imperative that you not only follow your training, but also your instincts."

Merlin then reached into the folds of his robes and pulled out a large scroll. He placed it in front of Long.

"This scroll contains all the mission intelligence that has been gathered up to this point, and it will be an aid to you in your mission. I cannot emphasize enough how important it is that you succeed."

He stood up.

"Unfortunately I cannot intervene in this mission if it goes pear-shaped, gentlemen. The best I can do is extricate you and let the story take its course. I warn you against using that option unless it's absolutely necessary."

A smile then spread across Merlin's face.

"But don't worry, the Lady and I have faith that you will complete your mission."

He turned to leave.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to see to the Wart's tutoring..."

With that, the wizard disappeared in a puff of smoke. Long opened the scroll and began perusing its contents. He then turned to Wolfe.

"Sergeant Major, have the men assemble at our rally point in five mikes!"

* * *

 **(5 minutes later...)**

LTC Long pushed open the heavy door that opened into the castle's main courtyard. Carefully he tucked the scroll into one of the pockets of his ACU blouse, then made his way down the steps. In one corner of the courtyard his men the Exiles were assembled, next to their equipment, in this case an SH-60 Sea Hawk helicopter and a HUMVEE. The colonel saw SGM Wolfe approach and give him a salute.

"Sir, the men are assembled and ready for mission debriefing."

Long returned the salute and gestured to the castle around them.

"Sir Ector was sure generous in lending us the castle as a staging ground for our mission."

He heard Wolfe give a snort.

"You don't share my enthusiasm, sergeant major?"

Wolfe shook his head.

"Permission to speak freely, sir."

"Granted."

"With all due respect sir, this drafty dump is about ready to fall in. Hell, I think the only reason that tower is still standing is due to that old goat's magic."

He looked about.

"And I can't even imagine how much it's gonna cost to keep this pile of rocks heated in the winter."

Long nodded.

"Well, it's not much different from FOB Charlie in the Kandahar province in Afghanistan, then isn't it?"

That elicited a small smile from the senior NCO, and he fell in behind Long as the Exiles' leader strode up to address his men. Long noted that all of them were in their full battle rattle, including Connors, who was wearing his Heavy Trooper armor, and Mayfield who was wearing his Zulu Squad kit. A brief uncomfortable flashback tickled the back of Long's consciousness as he recalled his capture, but he pushed it aside as Wolfe barked out a command.

"Platoon, Atten...Huit!"

All the soldiers stood at attention. Long spoke up.

"As you were, gentlemen."

Long pulled out his scroll and began debriefing his men.

"...And as far as I can tell this is a cut and dry asset protection detail. We go in under cover before the ceremony, set up a recon and protect."

SSG Connors spoke up.

"Who or what are we up against, sir?"

Long shook his head.

"This intel's pretty spotty on the exact details, but Arendelle is a small kingdom rich in natural resources like ice harvesting, fishing and gold mining, to name a few. Apparently there are more than a few people that wouldn't mind overthrowing a vulnerable princess and folding Arendelle into their empire."

Gobbi spoke up.

"We're not gonna havta kill anyone, are we sir?"

The leader of the Exiles shrugged.

"I hope not, but at the end of the day we have to protect the princess and make sure whoever tries to make an attempt on the new queen's life is thwarted."

He turned to Lt. Bradley.

"I'm going to put Bradley in charge, you have full leeway to execute this mission, the only order I am giving you is I am issuing you a no-kill order."

He paused.

"Unless the princess's life is in danger you are to use less-lethal force, and even in the event that someone makes an attempt on her life you are to shoot to wound and do everything you can to minimize casualties, is that clear?"

Bradley saluted.

"Yes, sir!"

CSM Wolfe nodded.

"Aside from the loot, who do you want to bring on board, sir?"

Long scratched the stubble on his chin.

"Honestly I though this could be a three man job, tops, but the old man wants it to be an all-hands-on-deck mission."

Gobbi piped up.

"Seems a bit excessive, sir."

Wolfe spoke up as well.

"I'm in agreement with the pri'at, sir. Unless that old goat knows something we don't."

Long shook his head.

"Merlin swears its on the level, but you know him."

He looked over to the three privates.

"Gobbi, you're to infiltrate as a guest and be Mayfield's eyes and ears on the ground during the coronation. Mayfield, as our resident sniper I want you to infiltrate the stave church where the coronation is to take place. Find a hiding place, like the rafters, and keep your eyes open for any assassins. Davis, as a medic I want you on hand in case things go south. I don't want to leave anything to chance."

He looked over to Jackson and Connors.

"I want you two in reserve in case the princess's enemies try something stupid like a full-on frontal assault. If that happens, I want you to lay down supressing fire until Gobbi and Davis have managed to exfil our asset, understood?"

Connors and Jackson saluted.

"Roger that, sir!"

He saw the pilot approach him. Captain Pelayo was the lone female and the other Marine apart from Jackson in the group. Until Long and the sergeant major showed up she was also the ranking officer and unwilling 'team-mom' during the Exiles' disastrous training mission. She gave a salute to Long.

"Sir, I would like permission to sit this mission out."

Long glanced down at the female Marine's attire. She was still wearing her revealing harem outfit that she wore to infiltrate the palace. He gave Pelayo a friendly smile.

"Don't like the company, Captain?"

Pelayo snorted.

"Negative, sir just the last mission left a bad taste in my mouth. Let's just say my fun meter's pegged, sir."

The colonel grinned.

"Fair enough."

He turned to Torrez.

"Sergeant, it means you're stepping up as our pilot."

Torrez grinned.

"Roger that, sir!"

Pelayo glared at the sergeant.

"If you put so much as a scratch on my baby I'll take my KABAR and carve the EGA on your ass, sergeant!"

Torrez laughed.

"Sounds kinky, Capt'n!"

The female Marine snorted, but didn't respond. She turned back to LTC Long.

"Sir, if you don't need me for anything else, I'll be off. I'm freezing my tits off in this fuckin' outfit."

Long, still grinning, nodded.

"Dismissed, Captain."

The leader of the Exiles turned his attention back to his men, who were chuckling and some even giving wolf-whistles to the Marine as she left. Pelayo just flipped them off as she left. Long cleared his throat.

"Alright that's enough. Now, Merlin has also arranged for King Arthur send with us lucrative trading rights, as a cover story."

He glanced over to Torrez.

"He's also going to conjure up a nice thunderstorm as a cover for our transportation to enter Arendelle airspace without causing any alarms, thing you can handle it?"

Torrez shrugged.

"Considering I had to fly a Little Bird through those sandstorms in Dubai, this'll be nothing!"

Satisfied, Long then looked over to CSM Wolfe.

"Sar'ent Major, I want you and Lt. Bradley to pose as King Arthur's ambassador so we can get into the party after the coronation."

Wolfe shrugged.

"S'long as I don't have to wear pantyhose and a ruff I'm fine with that, sir."

Long nodded, then glanced at his watch.

"Alright, well according to Merlin our mission will execute at 1300 hours tomorrow, which means you all are at liberty until then."

Lt. Bradley stepped forward.

"Um sir?"

"Yes, lieutenant?"

"Ah, Colonel Long, the men were wondering if we could be granted leave...apparently there's a village not far from here called Edwinstowe...apparently it's got a tavern, sir."

Comprehension spread across Long's face.

"Aha, and you gents want to party it up before the mission, is that it?"

Bradley nodded sheepishly.

"Yessir, that's it."

Long turned to Wolfe.

"What do you think, sergeant major?"

The old NCO chewed on his lower lip.

"Honestly sir, I think it's a bad idea. If this mission is critical we don't need our boys going in with hangovers."

Long chuckled.

"Then just make sure you give them a safety briefing, sergeant major."

He turned to leave.

"Anyways, permission granted, but standard leave rules apply. Just make sure they're aware of it."

Wolfe opened his mouth to object, but then finally just nodded and saluted.

"Roger that, sir."

He watched as Long climbed the steps back up to the castle's entrance, then turned to address the men.

"A'ight maggots…form up a horse-shoe and tune in those holes on the side of your brain housing group."

Wolfe watched as the Exiles gathered around him.

"Against my better judgement I am granting you mouthbreathers leave, but before you go I am supposed to give you your weekend safety briefing..."

He paused and frowned.

"You know what, I don't feel like wasting the oxygen on you fucksticks..."

He turned towards the Marine standing off to the side.

"Gunnery Sergeant Jackson! Front and center! Quick, fast and in a hurry, yoohoo!"

Jackson smirked and barked out a reply.

"Aye-Aye, Sar'ent Major!"

The Marine quickly formed up and stood at attention in front of Wolfe. The senior NCO spoke up.

"Gunny, you've given libo briefing before right?"

"Absolutely!"

"Then brief these fucknuts, and don't spare the rod."

"Roger that, Sar'ent Major!"

Jackson turned to the assembled soldiers and barked out in his best NCO voice.

"A'ight you fucking boot-ass Army gruntshits, listen up! Weekend Libo is here and all I wanna do is pound down some beers and pound some hot Celtic chicks, and I can't do that staring at you meatsack-gazing malingering malconents...so I'm gonna keep this weekend safety briefing brief...

"We've got a nice little hamlet not far from here known for having good ale in its taverns an' the place where Robin Hood closed the deal on Maid Marian. It's a clean and pretty, so let's keep it that way and leave it that way. If you're gonna drink, don't drive, if you're gonna drive don't drink. Don't do drugs, and if it don't look right, smell right or feel right, don't eat it. If you try to shack up with the local wimmen of ill reput, wear MOPP 4 gear, or you'll be payin' for it later. Seriously, wrap it before you tap it. Don't need the colonel's warfighters catching the clap or the drip..."

Torrez piped up.

"C'mon Gunny! Make it extra salty!"

"Torrez, shut the fuck up, if you interrupt me again with your daggone lip you're gonna have to learn to respond to orders from with your balls wedged between your tonsils...now where was I? Oh yes...

"Payday weekend is here…I don't want to hear you whining on Monday when your wallet is empty and that 3-kid stripper downrange is pregnant. If ya ain't careful, you will be broke and paying child-support until you ETS. And while we're on the subject, I don't give a shit what she says, the stripper doesn't love you, so don't do stupid shit like go off and marry her. This ain't a fucking fairy tale..."

The men chuckled at the Marine's quip.

"If you get into a fight, an' I'm lookin' at you Torrez, beat the mutherfucker's ass, but don't be leavin' no evidence. If I have to get up at 0200 to bail you out of the drunk tank I'm bringing an ass-whooping with me. Don't accidentally seduce the princess away from her intended love interest, I'm lookin' at you Pri'at Prince Charming Gobbi, and if you do don't come back here, we'll disavow your stupid ass. Don't get drunk and do stupid shit like swan diving naked in a kiddie pool of sriracha, I'm lookin' at your big black ass, Connors!"

"But sarge!"

Jackson grinned.

"Bitch, shaddup...And while we're on the topic of booze and bad decisions, don't be trying to peddle your gear to the locals as 'magic stuff', and I'm lookin' at you, Davis!"

"Come on Gunny, I've got penicillin, think of how many dicks it'll save!"

"Only cock you should be thinking about is your own, Davis. No selling any of your gear, that's an Article 15 offense as that shit doesn't belong to you, it belongs to the United States Army and by that extension the Damned 33rd."

Jackson grinned and mimicked Wolfe's gruff voice.

"...And for the love of Kerrist po-lease them cunt hairs off your pimply-ass face!"

Davis laughed.

"C'mon Gunny, I'm growing out a beard to be manly like you!"

"Well, you don't...you look like a teenaged emo cockholster who 69'd her girlfriend and got some of her lunch stuck on her chin. Police that shit, I ain't sayin' it again."

"Roger that, Gunny!"

Jackson took a step back, standing next to Wolfe.

"A'ight boots, that's all I got. Do whatever you want this weekend, but come 0500 tomorrow morning I want all the strippers, midgets, clown porn and KY Jelly out of the barracks and all of you shitstains in formation fifteen minutes prior. An' Pri'at Gobbi, since you're the star of the show you get to show up fifteen minutes prior to fifteen minutes prior, understood? Good. Alright Dis-Missed! fuckers, get outta my sight!"

As the men filed away, Wolfe shook his head.

"I gotta bad feelin' about this..."

* * *

 **(Meanwhile, the Arendelle Royal Palace)**

Elsa was alone in her chambers, she had dismissed her guards, and thankfully her sister was busy preparing for the royal coronation ball. Occupying one wall of her chamber was a large ornate cabinet. On top of it, resting on a purple satin pillow, sat a golden scepter and a orb filigreed in gold and decorated with diamonds and sapphires. Slowly she removed the long black velveteen gloves from her hands and reached out. Very gingerly she touched the scepter, and when nothing happened, she picked it up in one hand, and the orb in the other.

She breathed a sigh of relief, but then she noticed small ice crystals forming on the scepter, and to her horror saw that the orb was almost encased in ice. Quickly she set both the badges of her office back on their pillow, and took deep breaths to slow down her hyperventilating. She had less than two days before her coronation, and in order to do that she had to hold her father's scepter and her mother's orb. It was the final stage that crowned her queen of Arendelle. It meant she had to get her powers under control by then.

"Come on, Elsa, you can do it."

She made her way over to her window and flung open the shutters, letting in the morning light. She took a deep breath, and could feel her heartbeat slowing down. As she gazed out the window, Elsa saw a thunderhead in the distance. A storm was brewing over the ocean, and as she glazed at it Elsa felt a cold shiver down her spine as a feeling of ominous dread came over her.

* * *

 _(AN: So, there you have it, a small taste of things to come. I apologize for this chapter taking so long, I had to do some cutting and had to re-watch Frozen to get some details down. Next chapter will introduce the Damned to their mission as well. Let's hope the Damned 33rd doesn't leave too many bodies in its wake in Arendelle. Well, if you want to find out more then stay tuned and don't forget to fav/follow and comment!)_


	13. Operation Arendelle, Part 2

_(AN: Well, first of all I apologize that this took so long to get out. I've started a new job and my original idea was that I would dedicate about an hour each evening and maybe Saturdays to finish up the chapter. And then, as I'm fond of saying, 'Reality Ensued'. Because my new company was a start-up, it took up pretty much all of my time, was very stressful including lots of drama and stuff that goes with a start-up._

 _This went on all the time throughout the week, and by the weekend all I wanted to do was binge-watch Numbers with the wife and not even touch my laptop. So, here we are, a few months later and way behind schedule. I don't even want to think about my_ TSWCTK _fans and what they think of me. If you guys are reading this, I promise I'll post an update, shortly after this one is posted_ _. I appreciate your patience in this regard. And without further ado, on with the show!)_

* * *

 **(Location: Mountain pass of Æsfjålla, on the border of Arendelle and Amdalsøura, 1330 hours local time)**

It was a beautiful mid-summer's day in the valley between the two mountains, the midday sun's rays reached even the bottom of the valley. The mountainsides were lush with greenery and verdant vegetation, a far cry from the harsh conditions it would be in the dead of winter, when the valley would be impassable. The two mountain peaks, called _Twinsrinn_ in the country's ancient native language, stared down at a small convoy of military trucks was slowly snaking it's way down one of the mountainsides and into the valley. Overhead, an AH-6J 'Little Bird' gunship buzzed in a slow figure-8 holding pattern, keeping a vigilant eye ahead for any ambushes or other dangers.

Leading up the convoy of the 'Damned' was an IAV Stryker. Battered and weathered from six month's worth of sandstorms in Dubai, it was nonetheless deadly with its load-out of weapons. The turret-mounted Mk-19 grenade launcher pivoted remotely back and forth, searching for targets. Inside the heavily armored vehicle its occupants, soldiers of the 'Damned,' could be heard bantering over a radio blaring vintage country music.

 **(BGM: 'Oakie from Muskogee,' by Merle Haggard)**

"Man, you mean to tell me you've never read 'Lone Survivor'? Sar'ent Barnes, you wanna school High Speed, or should I?"

SGT. Barrigan was at the wheel and chuckling at the expense of Lt. Perkins, shaking his head but never taking his eyes off the road. They were currently taking a narrow winding path down the mountainside, with steep 1,000 foot drop and no guard rails. A single wrong correction in the steering course would send the armored vehicle plunging to all their deaths. Meanwhile SFC Barnes responded to Barrigan's jibs with just a small grim smile, his scarred face twisting it into a grimace. The senior sergeant of Kilo Company was at the MK-19 gunner's station, scanning for threats.

"Tell me you at least read 'Generation Kill' loot," Barrigan continued, "that shit should have been mandatory readin' for any boot before they deployed to the Sandbox or the Rockpile."

2nd Lt. Perkins paused for a moment, then shrugged nonchalantly.

"Eh, didn't have time to read the book when I was in ROTC, but I watched the miniseries on HBO over spring break..."

The junior officer was wearing an upgraded coyote brown plate carrier and a spec-ops helmet with NVGs, all courtesy of Captain Pilton's 'benefactor.' Perkins wanted the armor ostensibly for the extra protection, but also because he thought the Gucci kit would make him more bad-ass. All it did was reinforce his nickname, 'High Speed'. Perkin's response just added fuel to the fire, as Barrigan burst out laughing and even Barnes chuckled.

"Man, you're hopeless, sir. Watching the miniseries instead of reading the book is like sayin' you watched the Lord of the Rings movies instead of reading the Tolkien books. It's completely different."

PFC Cooper, who was perched in one of the rear passenger seats, looked up from cleaning his Scout Tactical.

"I read the book and watched the miniseries. I liked Sgt. Brad Colbert, and the actor who played him did a good job."

He looked over Barnes.

"You know, what's 'is name who was in 'True Blood'?"

"You mean Alexander Skarsgård?"

Cooper nodded.

"Yeah, him. That guy was pretty badass."

Perkins turned to the private.

"Yeah, Colbert's callsign was _Iceman_ , right? Didn't our battalion 1st Sergeant get his handle because he kinda looked like the actor?"

Something caught Barrigan's attention off the road, but it turned out to be nothing. He then shook his head.

"That's a negative, High Speed. 1SG Crosby got the callsign _Iceman_ because he was a stone-cold motherfucker who formed up and led Zulu Squad."

The Stryker's final occupant was the young specialist sporting a mohawk and a red bandana, toying with his bayonet knife with an air of boredom. Finally SPC Martzen sheathed his knife and stood up, making his way to the front of the IFV and where the conversation was. He finally spoke up to Barrigan.

"Hey sarge! I never pegged you for listening to this old-school country shit?"

Barrigan's dark complexion creased into a frown.

"I grew up in Tulsa, and my old man loved Haggard and Johnny Cash. He died when I was still in boot camp, so it's all I got of him."

He turned his head slowly and deliberately, lifting his Oakley sunglasses and fixing the young soldier with a hard glare.

"Or do you think because I'm black I should be listening to rap?"

Silence fell in the Stryker's interior, and for a full two minutes there was just the rattling sound of the armored personnel carrier going over bumps and rocks, but then it was broken when Barnes burst out laughing, followed by Cooper and Barrigan. Finally Martzen, realizing the prank joined it. The sergeant continued.

"Bunny, you need to get your brain-mouth filter working again. Lissen, my old man worked construction in the summer, but in the winter months he worked the rodeo circuit in the south, actually got him a coupla belt buckles."

Barrigan chuckled.

"Hell, I'm more redneck than pretty much anyone in the Damned 33rd."

Cooper chuckled and chimed in.

"Nah sarge, you're still not as hillbilly as ol' Pri'at Gobbi."

"Hey, I liked Pete, that kid was alright..."

Their banter was interrupted by the radio crackling to life, and Miller's voice coming through the static.

 _"All units full stop, repeat, all units full stop! Wild Bill's got a surprise for us..."_

Barrigan keyed the mic on his radio.

"Roger that, all units, full stop."

* * *

The Stryker IFV ground to a halt, followed by the two HUMVEE's that were following it. The one at the back of the column switched off its engine, and 1SG Randolph 'the Interrogator' Dossler emerged from the driver's door. The other HUMVEE sat with its engine idling, then the door opened, revealing Captain Pilton. The leader of Kilo Company was in the process of lighting a cigarette when he looked up.

"Oh, hi. We just reached the border, so I figured this was as good as any time to stop and give the troops a sit-rep."

He clicked his Zippo shut and smiled at the audience.

"You're welcome to tag along too, if you're curious."

Pilton killed the ignition and stepped out of the HUMVEE, gesturing behind him with his cigarette.

"I know it's weird to have only one guy per HUMVEE, but the boys didn't want to take turns riding in the Stryker, so I let `em all ride in it at once."

He placed the cigarette in his mouth.

"Risky? Yeah, probably. But I trust Frank's driving skills, as for me I don't trust anyone else's driving skills but my own, especially on these mountain pass roads."

Ahead, the Stryker's rear hatch opened, and the other soldiers filed out, stretching their legs and checking their weapons. Pilton nodded at Barrigan.

"Frank, you and Old Thunder set up a parameter, make sure there aren't any hostiles nearby."

He heard the soldier let out a 'Roger that' and finished his cigarette, flicking the butt away. As Pilton continued down the road he saw a small cairn of rocks. At the top of the pile was a small stone obelisk, etched with Nordic runes. The leader of the 'Damned' stared at the runes, as if reading them.

"Hmm, 'Here marks the border of the the Kingdom of Arendelle'."

He paused, ostensibly puzzled.

"Why does that sound familiar?"

Pilton gave an aside to the audience and smirked.

"Oh come on, I'm bullshitting you. Of course I know the movie. Everyone's who had a daughter under 15 has seen that flick at least a dozen times. I'm just a bit surprised, that's all."

He turned and made his way back to the vehicles.

"I mean, I was expecting something different for our first mission, that's all."

Pilton glanced at the audience again.

"Our first mission? Well, according to our mutual friend and benefactor, there is supposed to be a contact that is going to give us a mission, one that will help out this story reach its logical conclusion. In exchange for which we will receive solid intel on LTC Long's whereabouts."

He shrugged as he reached for his pack of cigarettes.

"Honestly, I don't care whose side we're on as long as it gets me closer to Long. As I said before, we had to treat with some very unsavory characters in Afghanistan and Iraq to complete our mission, and this is no different."

As he reached for his Zippo, the Damned officer continued.

"Oh real quick, there is something about me that I think I should let you know."

He clicked open his lighter and lit his cigarette whilst talking.

"As you might have inferred, there is going to be some debate about whether I'm the villain of this story or not."

He paused and took a drag from his cigarette.

"As I said, you'll just have to watch and see if I earn that title or not."

Pilton paused and exhaled smoke from his lips.

"For what it's worth I consider myself a reasonable man, not some one-dimensional monster. All I want is to see LTC Long be served justice for tearing the Damned 33rd apart. I'm not even interested in any of the Exiles under his command, to be honest with you."

He pocketed his lighter and took another drag from his cigarette.

"But even I have my berserker buttons, so to speak."

He held up three fingers of his cigarette hand.

"Three, to be precise. I can't stand liars, blackmailers, or slavers."

Pilton continued towards the Stryker.

"Now, that last one might seem a bit odd, but let me tell you, the reason is because of the sins of my father."

He stopped by Perkins, who was scanning an outcropping of rocks with his F2000 bullpup.

"...Or rather, the sins of my great-great grandfather Aloysius Beauregard Pilton. You see, being from the Antebellum South, and a wealthy land-owner, he participated in the time-honored tradition of owning slaves."

He paused.

"Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those bleeding-heart liberal fucktards that say we should be payin' reparations and shit like that, I just can't stand assholes who think that people are chattel that can be bought or sold. Mostly because I had to live with great-great-grandaddy's reputation throughout all of school and growing up."

Pilton gave a wicked smile.

"You might say it made an impression on me."

He looked up and saw 1SG Dossler approach. He turned to the audience.

"But I digress. It's time to get back on the clock."

The Interrogator saluted Pilton.

"Sir, Private Cooper reports contact, two klicks out."

Pilton returned the salute.

"Alright, Sar'ent, don't keep us in suspense. Is it a welcoming party?"

Dossler shook his head.

"Negative, it's one male."

"Hostile or armed?"

"Unsure about the first, but the contact is unarmed. He sure is going through a lot of trouble to try and approach us unseen, sir."

Pilton nodded.

"Roger that, lead the way."

He followed Dossler to where Cooper and Barrigan were taking cover behind a craggy outcropping of moss-covered rocks. Pilton crouched down and made his way towards the young private.

"What's the sitch, Coop?"

The private responded, never taking his eye off the scope of his Scout Tactical.

"Contact is still inbound, 800 meters and closing."

"Threat assessment?"

"Minimal, sir. He looks like one of those prissy, over-dressed prince types you'd find in a fairy tale, sir."

Pilton nodded and stood up, much to the alarm of the two soldiers on cover.

"Captain Pilton! Sir, you need to get down!"

The captain smiled down at Cooper.

"Why? Prince Charming is unarmed, he doesn't look like a threat, so I'm going to go and greet him."

Barrigan stood up.

"Sir, with all due respect, that is a bad idea."

Pilton turned to his adjunct, still smiling.

"Well, if you're so worried about my well-being Frank, then why not tag along?"

Barrigan glanced down at Cooper and then back to his CO, then racked a round into his combat shotgun.

"Roger that. But if Prince Charming so much as twitches, I'm turnin' his prissy cracker ass into hamburger."

The captain's smile broadened into a wicked grin.

"I'd expect nothing less than gratuitous violence from you, sar'ent."

He turned to the Interrogator.

"Dossler, get on the horn to Miller and have him scan the area to make sure this prince isn't some sort of feint or scout for a much larger attack force."

1SG Dossler saluted and made his way back to the Stryker.

"Coop, I want you to cover us and be Barrigan's backup if necessary, but nobody does shit unless I say so, got it?"

The private nodded.

"Roger that, sir!"

Pilton then turned his attention back to the figure in the distance, who by now was less than 300 meters away. At this range both Pilton and Barrigan could make out details even without the aid of a scope or binocs. Their contact was a young man, probably in his early to mid twenties, with auburn red hair and long mutton-chop sideburns. He was wearing a canvas traveling cloak over a pair of dark blue breeches and riding boots, a matching blue waistcoat and a crimson cravat. To his credit, the stranger didn't seem at all perturbed at the sight of two armed men approaching him, but rather paused and waited.

When both Pilton and Barrigan were close enough, the young man gave a florishing bow.

"Good afternoon, strangers. Welcome to Arendelle."

As he greeted them, the young man took in both of the strangers. They were dressed in what appeared to be clothes of a drab mossy green color, but upon closer inspection was actually a cloth made of of very small intricate geometric patterns in varying shades of green and brown. One was dark-skinned, obviously someone from the southern continents beyond the sea, brandishing what looked like a _kammerlader_ rifle, but was sleek and made of some sort of dark black furniture. The other was clearly the man of rank, based off the way he carried himself. He was slightly shorter than his companion, but had piercing grey eyes and was smoking some sort of cheroot. The man smiled.

"Thanks, I always appreciate a nice welcoming committee. I am-"

He paused and gave another smile, this one not so genuine.

"I'm sorry, but I feel it would be insulting if we gave our names before you had a chance to introduce yourself."

The young man flushed slightly, whether in embarrassment or anger, but either way he recovered quickly.

"You are quite right, my apologies. I am Prince Hans, of the Southern Isles, youngest of my family name."

The stranger returned the bow.

"Captain William Pilton, commander of Kilo Company, of the Damned 33rd."

The commander of the 'Damned' glanced over.

"This is Sergeant Frank Barrigan. And it goes without saying but I wouldn't suggest any funny business, as he's got an itchy trigger finger."

Pilton then turned to Hans.

"Well, now that the introductions are out of the way, why are you here?"

Just as Hans was about to speak, the captain held up a forestalling gloved hand.

"-And before you say anything, I highly doubt you came all the way here out to the middle of nowhere just to welcome us to a kingdom that you yourself are just a visitor to."

He leaned in.

"Unless...you're here for a reason?"

Prince Hans' pulse quickened as he recalled the conversation he had with the entity in the dark red crystal. It was a long story of how he acquired it, and the prince still shuddered at the foul deeds and terrible rituals he had to perform in order to communicate with the creature residing within the crystal. But, as his benefactor revealed, it would be all worth it. The young prince would have his heart's desire, and all of his older siblings would be the jealous ones.

Suddenly, Hans remembered something the entity told him, and he reached into his pocket. It turned out to be a mistake, as the dark-skinned soldier trained his weapon onto the prince. There was a rasping _click!_ and although he was not familiar with the weapon's functions, he knew enough to know that the weapon was now primed and ready to fire. He swallowed hard, and spoke as evenly as his nerves allowed.

"I-I am just reaching for something, something that your Captain Pilton might recognize..."

Barrigan glanced over to Pilton, who gave a slight nod. He then turned his attention back to the prince.

"Fine, but no funny shit!"

Prince Hans let out a breath, and slowly withdrew a hand from his pocket. He held something that shone in the midday sun, and approached Pilton. He handed it to the leader of the 'Damned', and stood there. Captain Pilton directed his gaze to the trinket. It was a brass disc, and upon closer inspection it turned out to be a challenge coin. On one side it had an eagle grasping an olive branch in one claw and a bunch of arrows in its others, the sigil of the United States Army. Pilton turned the challenge coin over, and on the other side was a fanged skull with the Roman numerals XXXIII, along with an inscription in Latin: _Numquam Damnati Quiescenti_.

Captain Pilton noticed some engraving at the bottom, and brought it closer to read it. When he was able to, the officer almost dropped the coin in shock. In small letters was engraved the phrase

 _"To David Long, congrats on your promotion!"_

 **(BGM: 'The Man Comes Around' by Johnny Cash)**

He pulled out his cigarette pack, unbeknownst to either the prince or his subordinate there was a slight tremor in Pilton's hands as he lit his cigarette. After taking a deep lungful of smoke, he exhaled and addressed the audience.

"Well, this is a stroke of luck."

He held up the challenge coin.

"This is LTC Long's challenge coin, given to him by the Old Man himself. And that makes sense..."

The leader of the 'Damned' turned the coin over in his hands.

"This trinket is the thing that seals the deal, a sign that he's our contact. This Prince Hans is going to lead us to Long, and will help us complete the mission."

Pilton glanced over to Barrigan and Hans, seemingly oblivious to his monologue.

"Don't need to bring the boys in on the particulars, it's on a need-to-know basis."

He turned and gave Prince Hans a real, honest-to-goodness broad smile.

"Well, Prince Hans, I hear you might have some troubles, and as it turns out my men are very adept at solving problems."

He held up the coin again and lowered his voice.

"Assuming you can help me find this coin's owner, right?"

The prince nodded, still perspiring. Pilton grinned.

"Well, that solves it."

He turned to Barrigan.

"Frank, this young man is our contact, and Kilo Company now has a mission, we're on the trail of that traitor Long."

Pilton gestured to the rest of his men.

"Get back there and tell Dossler to rally the troops and get ready to get under way."

Barrigan gave a 'Roger that' and got on his radio. As he spoke the other soldiers of Kilo company started towards their vehicles. The Stryker's engines snarled to life. Pilton nodded at the prince.

"After you, your majesty."

As Hans followed Barrigan, Pilton fell in step beside him.

"Hansie, my boy, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship..."

* * *

 **(24 hours earlier: in a f** **orest in Sheffield, South Yorkshire, 1239 A.D., 0500 hours local time)**

SGM Wolfe was furious. He was standing in the castle's courtyard, it was still dark, although there was a faint glow just starting to manifest itself on the horizon. The objects of the sergeant major's fury were standing in front of him. SSG Connors, SGT Torrez and PFC Gobbi were standing in formation, blinking owlishly at their senior NCO, looking hungover, or worst, still drunk. Wolfe's face creased as his frown deepened, and he finally spoke in a low, guttural voice tinged with fury and potential violence.

"You buncha fuckin' idiots..."

He directed his glare to each soldier individually, finishing with Gobbi, then continued.

"Apparently you shit-stains didn't listen closely to the safety briefing, that or else myself and Gunny Jackson weren't succinct enough."

Connors opened his mouth.

"B-but sarge-"

Wolfe turned his attention to the offending NCO.

"Did you hear a zipper unzip, Sar'ent Connors? Then shut your fuckin' mouth, I ain't done ranting!"

He glanced down, and noticed in the early morning light that the sergeant was missing parts of his uniform.

"...And where in the actual fuck are your pants?"

I-I don't know, Sar'ent Major!"

He turned to PFC Gobbi.

"Pri'at, you managed you get yourself entangled with the innkeeper's wife? You mind explainin' that to me?"

Gobbi gave a sheepish grin.

"Ah, there was a lot of alcohol involved, sarge..."

Wolfe shook his head, then turned to Torrez, who had a large shit-eating grin on his face.

"An' you, sar'ent. You got anything to say for yourself?"

SGT Torrez continued grinning.

"C'mon, sar'ent major I tried to break up the fight..."

"-the same fight you instigated...what in the hell and holy fuck did you say again?"

Torrez shrugged.

"Nothin'...I was puttin' the moves on this hot ginger chick, come to find out her boyfriend is some big-ass knight in plate armor."

He paused and glanced over to Gobbi.

"For what it's worth, the pri'at did try to get me to see reason, but...well, we were both drunk, sooo..."

Wolfe's eyes flicked over to the private, then turned their gimlet glare back to Torrez.

"And?! Don't keep me suspense, Torrez!"

The younger NCO shrugged.

"So the knight asks me in this who Shakespeare 'Forsooth, art thou accosting my beloved' or some shit like that..."

Wolfe leaned in.

"And what the fuck did you say?"

Torrez's grin broadened.

"I said 'Fuck no, I ain't tryin' to accost nobody. I'm just tryin' to play a game of hide the sausage with this hot ginger here...'"

He glanced over to Connors.

"An' the rest, well, it got kinda blurry after that."

The sergeant major let out a sigh, and took a step back.

"If it were up to me, I would re-institute the Damned 33rd's policy on public flogging."

Wolfe's attention was diverted by the high-pitched whine of their Sea Hawk's APU spooling to life. He then looked back at the three soldiers.

"But fortunately for you fucknuts, we're wheels-up at 0700 an' LTC Long wants all y'all geared up and ready by then."

He straightened up.

"Dis-missed! The lot of you get outta my sight, an' if I see any of you fuckheads so much as using the porta-shitter without permission I will personally round all of you up and turn y'all in the next Human Centipede, is that clear?"

When the three soldiers straightened up and saluted, Wolfe dismissed them. As the last of them, PFC Gobbi, scrambled up the stairs to the castle Wolfe saw movement out of the corner of his eye The old sergeant major saw who it was and immediately came to attention, saluting in the process. Lieutenant Colonel David Long, the Exile's CO, approached and returned Wolfe's salute.

"As you were, sergeant major."

SGM Wolfe relaxed, and turned his attention back to the castle. For a moment there was just the sound of birds twittering in the glow of the early morning sunlight. Finally Long spoke up.

"So, the men...will they be battle ready?"

Wolfe shrugged.

"Probably not..."

Long nodded, and glanced about the courtyard, as if looking for something. Finally the sergeant major broke the silence.

"Is there something else, sir?"

The Exiles' commander nodded.

"Sergeant Major...I'm...I'm sorry for not heeding to your advice. About the men going on leave, that is."

A small smile creased the sergeant major's lips.

"For what it's worth sir, a night of drunken debauchery didn't diminish their battle-readiness, sir. The lot of `em are as ate up as a chicken noodle hoagie, before they went on leave..."

* * *

 **(Meanwhile)**

Inside their improvised barracks the Exiles were busy gearing up and getting ready for their next mission. SSG Connors was pulling on a fresh pair of pants, while Torrez and Gobbi were pulling on their PALS armor and gear. PFC Mayfield, dressed in his Zulu Squad armor save the helmet, goggles and balaclava, walked up to Gobbi.

"So, did ol' Big Bad Wolfe read you guys the riot act?"

Gobbi shrugged.

"Yeah, he was a bit harsh, but honestly we had it comin'."

"Speak for yourself, Romeo..."

Both privates looked up and saw SGT. Torrez. Geared up and wearing his Oakleys and boonie hat, he grinned down at Mayfield and Gobbi.

"Did Pete tell you what went down after the innkeeper got knocked the fuck out?"

Mayfield turned and saw Gobbi flushing pink.

"Awww, lookit! Pri'at Gobbi got him some!"

PFC Gobbi tried to shush Mayfield, but the damage was already done. PVT. Davis, their medic was already making his way over, followed by Lt. Bradley. Even Connors, who was busy packing his Heavy Trooper armor away into a crate. The medic spoke up.

"So Pete, I hear you had another romantic rendezvous! Won't Princess Jasmine get jelly?"

Gobbi shook his head.

"It weren't nothin' like that...I-I just passed out."

"Yeah, while the innkeeper's wife was trying to stick her tongue down yer throat, pri'at!"

The soldiers looked up at Connors.

"Hey, don't look to me for gory details, I passed the fuck out shortly before Gobbi did."

He struggled with the lid on his crate.

"Motherfucker this shit's a pain! Man, I hope ol' Whiskers is yanking our chains about this being a combat op. I really don't want to have to put this Heavy Trooper armor on again in the middle of summer."

Mayfield nodded, Gobbi's embarrassment temporarily forgotten.

"Yeah, testify. This Zulu kit's hotter than hell now, an' it's not even full daylight out."

He looked down at a crate that was already packed.

"Honestly, what in the actual fuck is the old goat thinking? Chocolate bars and cold weather gear? In summer?"

He held up one of the bars with it's brightly colored wrapper.

"Melkes-joko-laid? And it ain't even Hershey's it this weird Swedish shit."

"S'not Swedish, it's Norweigian..."

The soldiers looked up at Lt. Bradley.

"Well, loot? Got any ideas as to why we're being issued this shit?"

The young officer shook his head.

"Negative, gentlemen, that's above my pay grade."

Bradley went back to his crate and picked up an old, leather-bound tome. Torrez grinned.

"What's up with the book, El-Tee? We gotta pop-quiz tomorrow?"

Bradley shook his head.

"No, this is something Merlin gave me, it's a history of the region that we're going to. Just trying to get up to speed on the socio-political climate..."

"C'mon, El-Tee, this is a routine mission, not a book report."

Lt. Bradley looked up and saw Gunnery Sgt. Jackson walking in. He, like the rest of the 33rd, was fully armored and geared up, his desert MARPAT standing in stark contrast to the Exiles' green ACU's. Jackson nodded to the group of soldiers.

"Wheels up in ten mikes, gentlemen."

He glanced over to Lt. Bradley.

"Orders, sir?"

The lieutenant nodded.

"Alright, we're going in two trips. First round's gonna be SGM Wolfe, myself, Mayfield and Davis."

He gestured to Torrez.

"Sgt. Torrez will pilot Deadly, and bring one of our HUMVEEs for transport. The rest of Exiles will follow in the second wave, Gunny Jackson will serve as crew chief and go-between for myself and command. Questions?"

None of the soldiers spoke, so Bradley nodded.

"Alright, what Merlin said, let's keep this smooth and by the numbers. No screwups this time."

He looked over to Gobbi.

"That means no seducing the princess, go it, pri'at?"

That elicited a chuckle from the Exiles, but the private took it in stride.

"Roger that, sir!"

* * *

 **(3 hours later, somewhere over the North Sea)**

"Shit! Man, I've never seen such a storm!"

The Sea Hawk helicopter shook violently from the turbulence and wind shears as it flew. Somewhere off the coast of England the Exiles had run into a massive storm at sea, which was originally by design. The wizard Merlin had told them he needed a storm to cover their tracks, saying that if they flew out in the open it would not be wise. When Gobbi asked why, Merlin had replied that the Enemy had spies everywhere.

The private, in spite of the violent shaking in the cabin, felt goosebumps again, wondering what sort of enemy could be so powerful that it required a typhoon for cover. He felt the craft jerk suddenly, and recalled that not only was their chopper having to navigate this storm, it had to do so carrying a two ton military truck. Fortunately the wizard had cast a spell of feather-light, but the HUMVEE was still as liability. His thoughts were interrupted as he heard SGT. Torrez's voice come through his headset.

"Alright, we're almost over this hump stand by, it's gonna be a bumpy ride."

Gunnery Sgt. Jackson glanced over his shoulder, and saw Lt. Bradley sitting closest to him. The lieutenant looked green around the gills, so Jackson decided to goad him.

"Hey, El-Tee! You alright, sir?"

Bradley shook his head and shouted over the din.

"That's a negative, gunny. I hate flying, and this turbulence is trying to dislodge my spleen."

"Oh hell sir, this little dust up? Aw hell sir, this ain't nothin'! Back down range, when my unit was stationed in Okinawa, we were flying back from an op and hit this hailstorm over the sea of Japan. Shit, that was a motherfuckin' storm, you should have seen it! The turbulence fucked everyone's shit up...Everybody was retching their guts up, hell even the pilot shot his lunch all over the windscreen, and the RTO barfed all over his radio, shorted it the fuck out! We ran out of barf bags so everybody was puking in their Kevlars an' passing it down. And it wasn't lightweight stuff either, it was that thick and chunky salsa puke! Here, wanna bite?"

Bradley almost lost his lunch, and laughter reverberated throughout the cabin, even over the storm's din. The mood among the Exiles was light, even cheerful. Little did they know, but, in spite of the wizard's precautions, they were still being watched.

* * *

Glossary:

 _Twinsrinn_ : Ancient Norse word for 'The Twins', in examining the topography of Arendelle I noticed there was a large outcropping of mountains including two peaks and decided to throw in a GOT's reference :)

 _Kammerlader_ : A breech-loading black powder rifle that was issued to the Norwegian Armed forces in the 1840's. It is notorious for being one of the few breech-loading rifles to be used by a European power when most of Western Europe was still using muzzle-loading flintlock muskets. And it's only mildly anachronistic since the events of Frozen are supposed to take place in the summer of 1839.

 _(AN: DUNDUNDUUUUUUNNNN! Well, for those who know who the Big Bad is it shouldn't come as a surprise. and for those of you who don't, well, I don't like ruining the surprise. For this chapter I actually had more sketched out, including getting to the actual coronation and introducing Duke Weselton to the Damned, but I figured you guys had been waiting long enough and plus it gives me something to go off for the next chapter. I hope you guys enjoy the references, I sure do ;)_

 _Anyways, next chapter should be up by the end of this month or the first part of November. Until then!)_


	14. Operation Arendelle, Part 3

_(AN: So, here we are...as promised this chapter didn't take as long to get out as the previous one. I've finally reached some sort of equilibrium at my new job so now I can dedicate some time each day to writing. Hopefully I'm keeping things in line with the character development, and not keeping the Disney characters too OOC. I want to try and get a couple of chapters out before the second Frozen movie comes out later this month (mostly to capitalize on the hype :) and keep this crazy torpedo going._

 _Also, most of the research I've been doing (in addition to the Disney-related stuff) is military-related, so to any of the vets/current serving/COD crowd types I hope it's entertaining and adding to the story and not muddying the waters too much. Also I wanted to get this out before Armistice Day (or Veteran's Day in the U.S.) as all of you know that date is near and dear to my heart and one of the reasons I am such a military otaku. So I will give the standard PSA, which is after you've read this on Monday (or any day) be sure to thank a veteran for their service. We wouldn't have the freedom to write this trite drabbles on a fanfiction site if not for their sacrifices._

 _And after that awkward mawkishness...on with the show!)_

* * *

 **(Kingdom of Arendelle, the 12th day of Sólmánuður, Coronation Day, 0915 hours local time)**

Princess Elsa, soon to be crowned queen of her realm, gingerly approached the window overlooking castle's courtyard. Resplendent in her royal coronation gown and cloak, she slowly removed her gloves and took a shuddering breath to brace herself. She had not slept well, and what little sleep she had was filled with nightmares of black, scaly dragons and odd-looking grey wyverns breathing fire. Once again she had a terrible premonition of things to come. To steady her nerves, she repeated the mantra that her dearly departed parents taught to her.

"Don't let them in...don't let them see..."

She turned, and slowly made her way to a massive painting that dominated an entire wall. It was a portrait of a man, in formal attire with a crown on his brow, holding a scepter in one hand and a golden orb in the other. It was her father, and the likeness was striking; handsome, imposing, but with a hint of melancholy that Elsa was all too familiar with. She continued to her self.

"...Be the good girl you always have to be...conceal...don't feel..."

She picked up a candlestick and small porcelain urn, approximating the scepter and orb that she was to hold as part of her coronation.

"Put on a show...make one wrong move and everyone will know-"

Elsa's nerves were getting the better of her, and as her resolve wavered her rogue magic manifested itself as ice crystals slowly formed over the candlestick and urn. She set them down quickly as one of the royal pages entered the room.

"Tell the guards to open up the gates!"

In the courtyard her younger sister Anna was overjoyed at the gates opening up, and she ran outside for the first time in a long time, with a song in her heart.

 **(BGM: For the First Time in Forever, Frozen)**

* * *

The HUMVEE rattled as it went over a pothole, jostling the soldiers inside. Lt. Bradley, PVT. Davis and PFC Mayfield were riding in the 'first wave' of the mission, with SGM Wolfe driving, and they were currently making from their undisclosed point of arrival to their destination. The cobblestone road that the military truck rattled over ran through the small town square, over a short causeway and straight to the castle gates. It was wide enough to allow at least four lanes of civilian motorized traffic, but now it was clogged with people. Peasants and nobles alike were dressed in the best finery and making their way to the coronation at Castle Akershus, where the lovely if reclusive Princess Elsa would be crowned Queen of Arendelle.

It was a joyous occasion, but at least one person in the crowd didn't share in their joy.

"Move it or lose it, shithead!'

Wolfe leaned on the HUMVEE's horn as he waved away a particularly large group of slow-moving nobles. The lead noble stood gawking at the large, rattling dirty metal construct as it slowly drove past, but the SGM Wolfe paid him no heed, the traffic and the mission contributing to his foul mood. Lt. Bradley was in better spirits, especially now that he was on _terra firma_. He stared out the window, watching as throngs parted ways in the wake of Wolfe's wrath and foul language. Over the din of the crowd and the rumble of the HUMVEE's diesel engine, he heard something. For some reason, the lieutenant could hear a very familiar song echoing in his ears.

"Anybody else hear that?"

When none of the other soldiers responded, Bradley simply shrugged and started humming along to the song. It didn't last long, Wolfe took his eyes off the road, glanced over to the officer and growled.

"With all due respect sir, knock that shit the fuck off."

Bradley paused in his humming and grinned at Wolfe.

"Hey, c'mon sarge, it's catchy!"

He heard Davis chuckle.

"Yeah, the first 234 times you hear it..."

PFC Mayfield grinned.

"Don't care how many times I hear Princess Anna sing that, I'd still smash."

The young officer shook his head.

"C'mon private, she's like 14!"

He looked over to Wolfe.

"An' Sar'ent Major, you gotta admit Princess Ana's got a sweet singing voice."

The sergeant major muttered something under his breath. Davis leaned in.

"Sorry sarge, what was that?"

Wolfe shifted glanced back.

"I said, 'don't remind me'...my daughter loved that stupid fucking song to death, and played it on repeat when she was visiting last summer. I wanted to either shoot myself or shoot the stupid fucker who wrote the tune."

The lieutenant chuckled.

"Oh, come on, Sar'ent Major, it's not that bad. Besides, you need to smile more."

Sergeant Major Eric Wolfe didn't smile. If anything, the scowl that was his resting face deepened as he drove through the crowds towards the castle that loomed head. He felt very self-conscious, and with good reason. Everybody, both noble and peasant alike, was staring at the Exiles' HUMVEE as it rumbled past on the cobblestones. Over Wolfe's protests LTC Long authorized Bradley to drive the HUMVEE to the palace as a show of strength as well as wear their dress uniforms during the coronation, and when seeking an audience with the newly appointed queen. Long's rationale was this was a military operation, and their dress uniforms wouldn't be out of place in an environment like this.

The sergeant major glanced over at his charge, 2nd Lt. Bradley. He really didn't feel being part of this op, it was outside his comfort zone, and he knew it was the first major operation for Lt. Bradley to oversee since Dubai. The seasoned part of Wolfe's brain knew that at some point this would turn into babysitting detail, or worse. Finally he spoke up.

"This was a mistake, we should have gone in mufti."

Wolfe glanced down at the HUMVEE's interior and then back to all the stares they were getting.

"Driving this Hummer through town we're out in the open, and more to the point we're sticking out like a diseased cock on a wedding cake."

He paused pressed the horn at a slow oxcart that was blocking their way to the gates.

"Oh for fuck's sake...GET THE FUCK OUTTA THE WAY!"

As they approached the castle both Bradley and Wolfe noted that the gates were already open. That didn't seem odd to the lieutenant, after all opening the gates was in the song, but he found it odd that neither of the palace guards stared at the HUMVEE as it drove past.

"Well, that was easy..."

Wolfe shook his head.

"Too easy, something fishy's going on here, and it's not last week's catch..."

Bradley shrugged.

"Well, can't be helped, sarge. Just have to adapt and overcome."

The HUMVEE came to a stop at a large porte-cochère at the far end of the castle's first courtyard. An impeccably dressed butler approached as Lt. Bradley opened his door.

"You are the envoys from the Albionian Royal Court?"

Bradley nodded.

"That is correct, Mister-er?"

The butler gave a low bow.

"You may call me Markus, sir. And you are?"

The lieutenant straightened up and saluted.

"Lt. Bradley of the Damned-I mean, Knight-Commander of the Round Table, sir. We have our invitations to the coronation here."

With that he produced a creme colored parchment envelop from his bellows pockets and offered it to the butler. Markus opened the envelop and examined its contents, then looked over Bradley's ACU's and his PALS vest.

"I was under the impression that Knights of the Royal Albionian Court wore plate armor..."

Davis, who had disembarked already, piped up.

"Hey, that shit's ancient history man! Too impractical!"

The butler almost raised an eyebrow at the private's remark.

"As you say, sir."

He then turned his attention to SGM Wolfe, who had killed the engine and opened his door.

"You do understand that even with invitations..."

Markus' eyes traveled over the sergeant major's ACU's.

"...that formal attire for this momentous occasion is not option? We are not holding the coronation in a rock quarry."

Wolfe glared the butler.

"Well I was planning on wearing this, but since you said otherwise, we did bring our dress uniforms-"

He paused and glanced over to Lt. Bradley.

"Well, those of us who are attending the coronation, anyways..."

Wolfe directed his attention back to Markus, and took a step forward, until he was almost nose to nose with the butler.

"An' just so you know Mr. Fancypants, the last sumbitch who gave me lip about my duty uniform had to learn to talk with his nutsack stuffed between his tonsils. You trackin'?"

Markus' eyes widened at the sergeant major's words, and there was a light flush on the man's cheeks as beads of sweat formed on his high forehead. Some of the guards must have thought something amiss, because one of them slowly approached, only to be waved off by the butler. He quickly recovered and his lips pursed into a small smile at Wolfe, which disappeared almost as quickly as it appeared.

"My apologies, good sir. I meant no disrespect."

He turned and snapped his fingers at a couple of footmen that were close by.

"These men can help you with your luggage, sirs."

The butler paused as he noted the large olive-green footlocker that being manhandled by Davis and Mayfield. He turned his attention back to Lt. Bradley and raised an eyebrow. The young officer grinned sheepishly.

"We're good to go on our luggage, Markus..."

He glanced back at Wolfe, still scowling.

"...but if you could lead the way to our quarters?"

* * *

 **(1 hour later...)**

Lt. Bradley tried re-tying the navy blue tie on his dress uniform shirt for the 3rd time, then examined himself in the mirror. Nope, still too short. After the Exiles were shown to their luxurious guest quarters at Castle Akershus and the servants were hastily dismissed, the soldiers went straight to work. For Davis and Mayfield, that meant getting geared up and assembling their weapons that were stashed in the locker. For Lt. Bradley and SGM Wolfe, that meant getting dressed into 'formal attire,' in this case, their Class A's. Bradley's thoughts were interrupted as he heard the sergeant major's voice behind him.

"Sir, if it makes you feel better nobody's gonna see that your tie is too short..."

Bradley turned to face Wolfe, who wasn't smiling, but his face wasn't scowling either.

"...as long as you keep your jacket buttoned up."

The lieutenant nodded.

"Thanks sarge!"

The sergeant major leaned in as he continued.

"But I ain't lettin' you off the hook either, sir. If you so much as unbutton one button or loosen that tie when you're on duty I will report your lack of Grooming Standards to the colonel right after I park your ate up ass into a sling..."

With that the sergeant major's face cracked into a very small smile.

"...with all due respect, sir."

Bradley grinned at the senior NCO.

"Y'know, sar'ent major, I was always curious about something. Why is it that every NCO whenever they say 'with all due respect' to their CO what they mean is 'Kiss my ass?'"

This time Wolfe's smile grew two sizes, and he almost chuckled. Almost. The smile left almost as quickly as it appeared, and he checked his watch, the glanced over to Mayfield and Davis, then back to the lieutenant.

"We should go, sir."

Bradley nodded.

"Roger that."

He turned to the two privates.

"Gentlemen, you know your roles?"

Mayfield, dressed in his Zulu Squad kit, patted his Scout Tactical.

"During the coronation I go to my super-secret-squirrel hiding place in the rafters and keep an eye on Princess Elsa-I mean the HVP during the coronation..."

Bradley nodded.

"Alright, we will be your eyes and ears on the ground, if there's any suspicious movement, we report it to PVT. Davis."

Davis then stepped forward.

"So I, also in my secret hiding place on the ground, report any suspicious movements to Mayfield or you, sir."

He held up an olive-green satchel.

"And, god forbid anything happen to the High Value Person, I will use my magical bag of wonders to administer first aid."

The private grinned.

"Not to worry, I've already informed the staff that I'm the team's 'healer' and offered my services to them if they required help."

Bradley grinned.

"Roger that. Alright, you two get to your posts, the sergeant major and I will get to ours."

* * *

The coronation was still half an hour away from starting, but the stave church within the grounds of Castle Akershus was filling rapidly up with nobles and visiting dignitaries. As they made their way towards the church, among the nobles in their finery two figures stood out. They were obviously military uniforms of some sort, dark navy blue but with minimal ornamentation and without the gold frogging that normally went with dress uniforms. Still, they had to be military by their bearing and demeanor.

Bradley glanced down at his dress uniform, then back over to Wolfe. Like the lieutenant SGM Wolfe was wearing the new navy blue Class A's, the only thing that distinguished the officer from the senior NCO was Bradley wore Corfams and the sergeant major wore his spit-shined M81 boots with the dress trousers expertly bloused into the tops. And then there was the matter of ornamentation. Lt. Bradley's single set of 'butter bars' and small cluster of ribbons paled compared to Wolfe's. In addition to his Command Sergeant Major chevrons, Wolfe had 8 Overseas Service Bars sewn onto his right sleeve, and a whooping 11 'hash marks' on his left, adding to this his full compliment of service ribbons it made the young officer's uniform seem plain in comparison.

Lt. Bradley was more fascinated than jealous though as he glanced over at the of ribbons on Wolfe's chest, rivaling even Konrad's.

"Pretty impressive fruit salad you got there, sar'ent major."

When Wolfe didn't respond the lieutenant leaned in.

"...I didn't know you got the Medal of Honor like the Old Man."

Wolfe kept pushed open the doors to the church and grunted non-committedly.

"Where did you get that?"

The senior NCO didn't respond right away, instead his eyes darted around the stave church's interior. Completely paneled in beautifully carved timber with light streaming in, the church was a sight to behold. Of course, it was lost on Wolfe, as he was scanning the area for threats. As the sergeant major's gaze passed the thick rafters that crisscrossed the high ceiling, the thought he caught a glimpse of Mayfield. Wolfe made a mental note to drill into the private the importance of camouflage, then finally responded.

"Gulf War One."

"What for?"

Wolfe sat down the the pew next to a small, weaselly looking main with a bad comb-over and a monocle.

"Surviving. Sir with respect, I'd prefer you drop the matter and focus on the task at hand."

Lt. Bradley nodded and sat down next to Wolfe. Considering the matter closed, the sergeant major suddenly remembered his surroundings and removed his black beret, and after nudging Bradley the lieutenant did the same.

* * *

PFC Mayfield shifted his positions, as one of the pouches on his plate-carrier was digging into his sides. He was perched on top of one of the large rafters that spanned across the stave church's wooden ceiling, keeping an eye on the proceedings below. He saw a figure wearing teal-green dress and a scarlet cloak approach the altar. He peered through the scope of his Scout Tactical and zeroed in. A smiled played his lips behind his skull balaclava, their High Value Person, Princess soon-to-be Queen Elsa of Arendelle was quite the looker in person.

"Man, CGI don't do her justice in the cartoons..." He thought to himself.

He heard Davis' voice in his headset.

 _"Misfit Two this is Misfit Three, do you have eyes on the HVP?"_

"Roger that, I have eyes on HVP, and I gotta say, she's quite the looker."

 _"Focus on the mission, Misfit Two. Any sign of enemy contact?"_

Mayfield shifted his position and checked through his scope. With the tiara placed on her head and holding the scepter and orb, Elsa was now officially the Queen of Arendelle. The coronation had gone without a hitch. He keyed the mic on his radio.

"Misfit Three, negative...no sign of enemy contact...just sayin' the loot's a lucky guy if he gets to meet her in person..."

* * *

Elsa quickly placed the scepter and orb back onto the pillow, then turned to face the audience. She breathed a sigh of relief. Nobody, not the bishop presiding over the ceremony, nor her younger sister Ana, nor any of the attending guests saw her magical powers.

She was only partly right. It escaped the attention of SGM Wolfe, who was by this point grumbling to himself about having to babysit a boot lieutenant and watch a coronation instead of overseeing this operation. It escaped the attention of Lt. Bradley, who was too busy in admiration on attending his first coronation. It even escaped the attention of Mayfield who was too busy checking out her out to notice.

It didn't escape the attention of one person. Concealed in the shadows was a shorter man wearing a simple but luxurious frock coat and tie, in fact, there was nothing that distinguished him from any of the other guests. His piercing grey eyes, however, did catch sight of the momentary display of Elsa's ice magic. The man raised an eyebrow and turned, addressing the audience.

"So, my suspicions were spot on."

The man slowly made his way out of a side door in the church, into a small courtyard that led to a smaller door. Captain Pilton loosened his cravat and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

"But, seeing as how this really is Frozen, I know exactly how all this shit is gonna go down."

He pushed open the door, revealing a path that led to a small thicket outside the castle walls.

"This promises to be fun."

As he approached the thicket he reached into the pocket of his frock coat and pulled out a radio. He keyed the mic and spoke.

"Kilo One-One, this is Kilo Actual, be advised I am inbound."

Dossler's voice came through the static on the other end.

 _"Roger that Kilo Actual, will advise perimeter."_

Pilton took a drag from his cigarette and glanced back at the audience.

"Not as swanky accommodations as what Prince Hans gets, but it'll do for the mission."

He paused.

"Oh well, by this point ol' Hansie is going to be making contact with the target's little sister, courtesy of a 'chance meeting' on the docks."

Captain Pilton took another drag.

"...and with some coaching from me and a nudge will help push the target over the edge, and reveal her true colors."

The captain's face contorted into an evil grin.

"And that's where we come in. I help Prince Hans hunt down a dangerous Ice Witch, he saves the kingdom and is rewarded handsomely."

Pilton stubbed out his cigarette and gave the audience another aside.

"What? You mean what about Hans and his plans to kill Ana? Well, that's none of my business. He's free either to save her and be rewarded, or kill her and inherit Arendelle."

He pocketed his pack of cigarettes and ducked under a low-hanging tree branch.

"That's the beauty of free will, isn't it?"

Pilton stepped into a small clearing in the thicket, where the soldiers of Kilo Company had set up a makeshift camp. The Interrogator approached, but not before the commander of Kilo Company turned one last time to the audience and smiled, this time more genuinely.

"Didn't I say this was worth the wait?"

* * *

 **(Meanwhile, inside Castle Akershus)**

Queen Elsa rolled her eyes as the Duke of Weselton left. The man was insufferable, and it was all she could do to not tell the little weasel off. She leaned over to her adviser.

"Who is next?"

"Two envoys from the Royal Court of Albion, your Highness."

She had heard that the ambassadors arrived in a bizarre metal coach that moved on its own accord without horses. It was explained as an invention of the king's court mage, an enigmatic wizard named Merlin.

She nodded and turned to see two men approach. They were wearing dark navy blue dolmans with lighter blue trousers. The older soldier, with a weather-beaten face and short silver hair that spoke of a career soldier, had his trouser hems tucked into black polished boots, the younger one wore more conventional dress shoes. Both had multi-colored ribbons decorating their chests, they must be military honors, she thought.

Bradley swallowed hard. The newly crowned queen of Arendelle was different up close and personal. He had seen the intel photos in the debriefing, but now he was very much struck by how beautiful and regal she was in person. He glanced over to SGM Wolfe, who gave a small nod.

Elsa watched as the older soldier nodded to his subordinate, he had far more ribbons on his chest so he must be the ranking officer. The younger soldier approached her, he had dark blue eyes and blonde hair, which was also short. It must be a style for Albionian soldiers, Elsa thought. He was also very handsome. She took in a sharp breath as the young officer cleared his throat.

"Greetings, your Majesty, on behalf of his Highness the King of Albion. We bring the King's felicitations on your coronation and offer these lucrative trading rights as tribute."

He held up a scroll of linen parchment, bound with the royal Seal of Albion. Elsa, for her part, caught herself staring at the young officer. Off-guard and not knowing what else to say, Queen Elsa simply nodded.

"Then your monarch has my thanks."

Elsa's attention was momentarily drawn towards the open area of the ballroom, she watched as her younger sister awkwardly danced with the Duke of Weselton. She smiled to herself and was still thinking about that when she collided with another body. The man staggered back, but immediately stiffened.

"I'm sorry ma'-er-your majesty, are you alright?"

She focused on the young man in a uniform, and remembered that it was one of King Arthur's envoys. For a moment she was lost in his blue eyes, then an idea occurred to her.

"It is no worry, good sir, save one request."

The young officer nodded.

"Of course, anything!"

Elsa fidgeted awkwardly with the hem of her cloak, alternating between glancing at the young officer and a fixed spot on the far wall of the banquet hall. This handsome young man was the first real person that she had spoken to who was not a relative or part of the royal household. She suddenly wished she was near the table that had all the chocolate. It wouldn't help, but at least she could keep her hands from fidgeting. And sample some delicious chocolate in the process, she flushed pink at the thought.

"Uhhh...your Majesty?"

She turned her attention back to the envoy. Those blue eyes seemed as lost as she was, it did make her feel marginally better. Finally she blurted out.

"Does the charming young officer have a name?"

That caused him to flush a bit pink.

"2nd Lt. Bradley, of the 'Damned 33rd', your Majesty."

He saw her flinch at the name of his unit and hastily added.

"Technically it's the 33rd Mobile Infantry Battalion, the 'Damned' part is just a nickname, your Majesty."

"I see. The Albionian Royal court must have some very powerful enemies to have such an army at their disposal."

She fought down a flush that was creeping up her neck and to her cheeks, but Elsa was relieved that the words were coming more naturally. At least the heat seemed to be keeping her powers at bay, she thought to herself. She was also relieved that the young officer named Lt. Bradley starting talking about his military unit, and their exploits. Most of it was lost on the young queen, but she did enjoy hearing the sound of the young man's voice.

She found out that in fact this lieutenant was in fact a junior officer and the older man was not of a higher rank, but rather a _förste sergeant_. Bradley introduced him as Sergeant Major Wolfe, who gave her a cursory nod. He reminded Elsa of a stern uncle who served in several military campaigns, one whom both her and Ana always felt self-conscious in front of. To her great relief, after the introduction the grim-faced sergeant excused himself and made his way to the far end of the banquet hall.

The young queen noticed that that even as he spoke with her, Lt. Bradley's eyes kept flicking about the room, as though he was looking for potential trouble. Then as she turned to accept a flute of champagne from a servant. The quartet had started playing again, but over the din of the music Elsa could hear Bradley speaking quietly to himself. She couldn't make out the words, but she caught the last thing he spoke.

"Roger that."

She walked up to him, seeing his right hand was over his ear. Elsa had a strange impulse that came over her, but couldn't resist it. As she approached Bradley, the young queen felt nervous.

"Excuse me, sir."

Bradley turned quickly, and flushed as if he had been caught doing something that he shouldn't have. Elsa took advantage of this, held her head up and spoke in her best queenly voice.

"Lt. Bradley, I politely request that you would have the honor of the next dance with the Queen of Arendelle!"

Her request caught the soldier off guard, and it took him a full minute to parse out exactly what Elsa was asking him.

"Come again?!"

* * *

Sgt. Major Wolfe keyed the mic on his radio.

"That's the gist of the sitch, sir."

LTC Long's voice came through the static in his earpiece.

 _"Understood, Sergeant Major. Charlie Mike, continue with the operation, anything changes keep me posted. Otherwise Lt. Bradley's still on point."_

"Acknowledged, sir. Will keep eyes on potential HEC's."

"Excuse me! Are you talking to yourself?"

Wolfe froze, and looked over to see a young girl in her teens staring at him. She was dressed in a very formal dress of deep forest green, and had vivid red hair. And lots of freckles. The sergeant major recalled the intel brief. This was the queen's younger sister Anna. He gave a brief shake of his head.

"That's a negative, miss."

He considered the matter closed and turned to go, but the girl grabbed his sleeve and stopped him.

"Wait, I was sure you were talking to yourself."

Wolfe gave the impudent girl one of his withering glares that could cause paint to peel and fresh OTS graduates to lose control of their bladders.

"I. Was. Not. Now let go of my arm and scram!"

Anna shook her head and continued as if the old soldier hadn't even spoke.

"…I know you were speaking to someone, because you were calling someone 'Roger', who were you speaking to?"

Wolfe rolled his eyes and pulled a radio out of his pocket, unplugging the earpiece.

"Look, kid, I was having a conversation with my commander using this magic box, it allows communication over long distance. Nothing nefarious. Speaking of which, have you seen Lt. Bradley? He's younger, blonde and wearing the same clothes as me."

Anna paused and put a finger to the corner of her mouth.

"Oh, that's easy! He's dancing with my sister Elsa."

That caused Wolfe to lose his composure.

"He's what?"

His eyes darted to the dance floor, and sure enough, there was the queen of Arendelle, Queen Elsa, blushing and dancing with Lt. Bradley. With his US Army dress uniform on display to every pair of eyes in the room the lieutenant was the antithesis of discrete, as he awkwardly trying to keep up with the young queen and avoid stepping on her toes. At least Elsa looked like she was enjoying herself, although that was no consolation to Wolfe. The sergeant major shook his head.

"This observe and report mission was rapidly degenerating into a clusterfuck..."

* * *

Glossary

Förste Sergeant: Literally translates as 'First Sergeant', this is a senior ranking NCO in the Swedish Army. It's anachronistic since the rank was introduced in the 1970's, but, then again so's having a US Army Battalion in a Disney Princess story ;)

By the way the reason for Long and Wolfe joking about Bradley's sense of direction is a running gag in the US Army. One of the courses in Officer Training School is Land Nav, or Land Navigation, and historically all 'Boot Loots' have a terrible sense of direction and are always getting lost in their Land Nav courses.

 _Hopefully I'm getting the A &E personalities right. For any of the Elsa haters who are saying she's acting OOC by flirting with Bradley, I say she's a girl in her late teens who's been isolated from anyone and everyone who is not her immediate family. She's never had a chance to go out on a date (not that she would even under the best of circs, given that she's royalty) let along talked to anyone her age, so if her Prince Charming comes in the form of Lt. 'Boot' Bradley, well...can't blame her ;)_

 _Next chapter will be up later this month, and it will get interesting so stay tuned!_


	15. Operation Arendelle, Part 4

_(AN: Well, here we are again. I was going to have this done sooner. I was even prepared to dislocate my shoulder patting myself on the back for having it done in time before Thanksgiving or Christmas 2019...and then life happened. B_ _ad news hit right before and after Christmas, which put a stop to the writing. And I'm not talking about the 'disease that should not be named', just personal stuff that created a huge writer's block. At one point I was even going to straight up abandon the fic, which I swore I would never do. Then, slowly but surely I pulled myself out of my funk and got back in the saddle._

 _And, here we are in May, a completely different world from last November when we last left off. Never did I think that an impending nuclear Armageddon would seem quaint in comparison to living through a pandemic. I mean, don't get me wrong, I don't think it'll be super serious, but life's definitely going to be different once the dust settles. I'll never take going to the cinema for granted again. Also, what is up with my American friends hoarding toilet paper? I saw a meme on social media about the toilet paper hoarding and couldn't believe my eyes._

 _Regarding the story, I'll try to stick to my once a month update, hopefully there won't be any more interruptions. I still haven't seen Frozen 2 so most of this early act is going to follow the first Frozen movie. Hopefully by the time we get to the second act I'll have seen Frozen 2 and can mesh it into this story more or less seamlessly. Now then, on with the show!)_

* * *

 **(Castle Akershus, Mission T+3 hours, 1438 hours local time)**

As the royal coronation ball progressed and dancers flocked to the floor the battle lines, such as they were, were drawn. On one end of the ballroom all of the ladies and teen-aged debutantes were lined up, tittering behind their fans and whispering among themselves. The women had, of course, chosen the side of the ballroom where the chocolate was being displayed. On the other side of the room were the men, both young and old. They too, were talking amongst themselves, the old men were shamelessly ogling the young ladies dancing, wistfully wishing they were younger. Every now and then one of the men or women would pluck up courage, and cross the no man's land that was the dance floor and ask someone for the next dance. But, for the most part, the men, both young and old, stood on their side.

There was one of the men that stood out. All the way on the end was a grim-faced man, wearing an austere dark blue military uniform with many ribbons on his chest, his expression clearing signalling that he did not want to be at this ball. SGM Wolfe stood at a position of parade rest earnestly wishing he was anywhere, even Dubai was starting to look enticing compared to this dog and pony show. To be honest Wolfe wanted to leave ten minutes ago, but couldn't, the reason he couldn't leave contributed to his foul mood. Vaguely the sergeant major was aware of a bubbly redheaded girl that was chatting away about some charming prince she just met, but Wolfe paid her no heed. His thoughts were interrupted when another voice spoke up.

"Excuse me, good sir!"

The sergeant major didn't respond, but glanced towards where the voice originated. An older woman stood beside him, wearing a gaudy pink ballgown and a long wrinkly neck that was weighed down by at least several kilograms of jewelry. By her demeanor Wolfe knew what she wanted, but didn't feel sociable.

"Yes?" He responded tersely.

The lady gave a curtsy.

"I am Lady Maugritte, Duchess of Aquitaine..."

She paused, as if the title would mean something to Wolfe, which it didn't. When he didn't respond the lady continued.

"I would be honored if you would have this dance, sir, er?"

She paused, clearly wanting Wolfe to introduce himself. He, on the other hand, was in no mood for such fuckery. He finally swiveled his gaze from the dance floor to her, and for a moment the duchess felt pinned to the spot by his glare.

"No thank-you, ma'am."

He then directed his attention back to the dance floor. The lady, flustered by the old soldier's brusque manners, fanned herself as she slunk back to ladies' side.

"You know, that wasn't very nice! Lady Maugritte came all the way from France to see Elsa get crowned. She's very influential, you know."

SGM Wolfe didn't respond to the redhead's prattling. Instead, his gimlet gaze seemed to cut a hole through the dancers in the ballroom, zeroing in on two figures dancing. When the waltz had first started they were both awkwardly trying to match the other dancers, but now were moving more freely and naturally. It just so happened that one of them was the newly crowned queen of Arendelle, which was causing a bit of a stir among the guests, but that wasn't the reason for Wolfe staring. The object of the old sergeant major's ire was the queen's dance partner, a young man wearing dark blue Class A's with a deprecating grin on his clueless face. 2nd Lt. Bradley had managed to get himself into this, Wolfe thought, and there's gonna be hell to pay for it.

The music slowly came to an end, and the dance partners dispersed from the ballroom floor, including the Queen and the boot. SGM Wolfe was only vaguely aware of the fact that the redhead who had been bothering him for the last half hour had finally disengaged and ran over to the Queen, probably for more sister talk, he thought. Wolfe directed his glare to the approaching lieutenant, whose flushed face a big stupid grin.

Lt. Bradley was riding high, he'd only danced once in his life and that was at the ROTC dress ball, but something about that girl made his heart skip a beat. After the dance Elsa excused herself saying she wanted to chat with her sister, and the lieutenant obliged her. Honestly he thought they both felt embarrassed by the dance after the fact, and he was happy for the distraction. He discretely keyed the mic on his radio.

"Misfit Two, Misfit Three, this is Misfit One, 'port in."

There was a crackle of static, then PVT. Davis' voice came through.

 _"Misfit One this is Misfit Three, status unchanged. No sign of hostiles on the ground."_

Then PFC Mayfield's voice spoke up.

 _"This is Misfit Two, no sign of baddies from up here...maybe ol' Whiskers was sending us on another goat rodeo."_

Bradley chuckled as he responded.

"Misfit Two, Misfit Three, acknowledged. Charlie Mike, keep your eyes peeled. Usually it's at the end when things decide to go sideways."

He heard a squawk, then he heard Mayfield chuckle.

 _"Never pegged you for a dancer, sir. You were cuttin' quite a rug there with the queen."_

The lieutenant shook his head.

"Focus on the mission, Misfit Two. Keep your eyes out for hostiles and don't let Elsa out of your sight."

 _"Oh, it's Elsa now, is it? Did you get her number?"_

"That's enough, Mayfield. Charlie Mike."

He could still hear Mayfield laughing as the private responded with a "Lickey Chickey" and the radio went silent again. As he approached SGM Wolfe he noticed the older NCO's dour expression was even more grim than usual. He was also glaring at Bradley as if he were walking on the sergeant major's grass, or gallivanting around base with his hands in his pockets. Nervously Bradley tried some small talk.

"Er, anything to report, sergeant major?"

Wolfe continued to glare at the lieutenant.

"As your radio conversation stated, nothing to report, _sir_."

Bradley's high spirits sank, he realized that the reason of Wolfe's glare was because of his dancing.

"Ah, sergeant major if this is about the dancing bit, the Queen commanded me to dance with her, as an envoy of Albion I really didn't have much say so in it..."

The older NCO snorted.

"Yeah, I saw that part, an' by the look of it you fought her very hard and tried to refuse before she threatened to burn you at the stake..."

The young officer chuckled.

"Well, you got me there, sarge. I-it just happened, and seemed like the thing to do at the time."

Wolfe rolled his eyes at the lieutenant.

"You finished, sir? Because we have to report back, the colonel's checked in and wants a sitrep."

He paused for a moment and saw that the queen was having a heated discussion with her younger sister. She was probably objecting to Ana's new boyfriend, Wolfe thought. He shook his head.

"An' I'm gonna let you explain to Long why you saw it fit to flirt with the queen."

* * *

 **(5 minutes later...)**

Lt. Bradley was relieved to be back in his ACU's, and he'd never thought to complain about his combat boots being uncomfortable after dancing in CORFAMs again. He stood at the position of parade rest in front of his CO, LTC Long.

"So, no sign of bad guys, or assassins or anyone suspicious?"

The leader of the Exiles was seating at a long table in the guest quarters of the castle. It was ornate and probably supposed to be used for dining, but the Exiles were using it as their debriefing table. Long was also wearing his ACUs, as was SGM Wolfe and PVT Davis. The sergeant major and the private were flanking Long on either side of him. PFC Gobbi was in the background cleaning his weapon. SPC Mayfield had volunteered to remain in his hiding spot to keep any eye on the queen.

Bradley shook his head.

"No sir, nothing."

Davis spoke up.

"Could be a trap, or they might wait until after the coronation and festivities are over to try something."

"I sure as hell hope not," Wolfe grunted, "I don't want to be stuck in this Disneyland version of Sweden any longer than we have to..."

The lieutenant grinned.

"C'mon sarge, the weather's nice, the food's good, what's not to like?"

"Says the dumbass boot who was flirtin' with the queen, with all due respect, sir."

Bradley held up his hands defensively.

"Hey, it was not like I planned on dancing with her, like I said, she commanded it."

Davis snickered at Bradley.

"Yeah, right, sir. You danced like three sets with her, didn't look like you were fighting him all that much."

SGM Wolfe turned his attention to the young medic.

"Pri'at, as senior NCO of the Damned 33rd only I get to give the loot shit about his taste in women. You get back to your post as backup for Mayfield, any shit goes down we're gonna be caught off guard."

PVT Davis smirked as he saluted and grabbed his weapon.

"Roger that, sarge."

Long watched the private leave, then when the door shut he turned to Bradley.

"Lieutenant, I'd have expected more...restraint from you, especially since this this is your op."

Bradley shook his head.

"I've got my head in the game, sir. It won't be a distraction, I promise."

Wolfe nodded in assent to what the colonel had said, and grunted.

"Ain't you ever hear of the expression that only a damned fool shits where he eats, sir?"

Bradley opened his mouth for a clever retort when his radio crackled to life.

 _"Misfit One this is Misfit Two Radio check..."_

The lieutenant keyed the mic on his radio.

"This is Misfit One, go ahead."

 _"Sir, still no indication of baddies, an' it's probably nothing but I wanted to report something. The queen and her sis are really getting into it, apparently it's causing a scene."_

"Trouble?"

 _"Negative, but if it degenerates into a catfight y'might have Davis on hand with his med-kit."_

Bradley heard laughter come through the static, and was still laughing when he heard Mayfield's voice curse.

 _"Holy Shit, she shot ice!"_

Bradley froze, and keyed his mic trying to fight down the panic in his voice.

"Ah, Misfit Two say again, did not copy your last."

 _"I said the queen shot ice from her hands, sir! She fuckin' held up her hands and buncha ice conjured up in front of her! Then she bolted...looked like she was heading north."_

Wolfe shrugged.

"Yeah, well it is in the story, I dunno why the specialist is gettin' his tits in a ringer about."

He stopped at the sound of the door being yanked open, and both Long and Wolfe stared just as Lt. Bradley disappeared around a corner. Wolfe grabbed his radio and snarled into the mic.

"Lieutenant, with all due respect, what in the actual fuck are you doing?"

Then Bradley's voice chimed in through the static.

 _"Sar'ent Major, I'm in the process of attempting to intercept the HVP."_

Wolfe shook his head and keyed the mic again.

"Negative, Bradley do not pursue! With respect, hold position and wait for backup, it's too dangerous!"

But Lt. Bradley didn't hear or ignored the sergeant major, as his response indicated.

 _"Dammit there she is, Hey wait up!"_

Sergeant Major Wolfe cursed to himself.

"Fuck and shit-biscuits! I knew this was going to turn into a clusterfuck."

He switched channels on his radio.

"Mayfield, Davis, this is Sergeant Major Wolfe! Bradley is attempting to exit the premise to chase after the queen, do not let him leave!"

The specialist's voice came through the static first.

 _"Ah, that's a negative sarge, Elvis has already left the building."_

Wolfe cursed.

"Fuck!"

Gobbi looked up from his rifle, as if just taking notice of the goings-on.

"What do we do now?"

Long sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Well, we go after Lt. Bradley, of course."

He turned his attention to Gobbi.

"Private, you go with Davis and Mayfield in the HUMVEE and try to intercept Bradley before he gets too far up in the mountains. Torrez will take Wolfe and myself up into the mountains and head him off at the pass, so to speak."

He looked up.

"Tell Davis and Mayfield to fall back to the HUMVEE, get it fired up."

The leader of the Exiles glanced out the window.

"The Sea Hawk's on the other side of the harbor out of sight, it's going to take us at least a half an hour to get to it and I don't want a repeat of Agabrah by spooking the natives with our 'flying dragon'."

He turned his attention back to Gobbi.

"That means time's of the essence, private..."

SGM Wolfe stepped forward.

"Sir, with respect, I'd like to lead the search and rescue for Bradley."

He paused.

"Although he'd better pray that he's frozen to death by the time I get to him, otherwise I'm gonna kill him myself."

Long shrugged.

"Fine by me, sergeant major, just maintain radio contact. Dismissed!"

Wolfe saluted, then turned to his locker and grabbed his vest and gear. Gobbi had already radioed to Mayfield and in less than two minutes they were both running down the back stairs of the castle that led down to the courtyard, making a racket with their boots and gear clattering and echoing off the stone hallway. They were halfway down when Gobbi's radio crackled to life.

 _"Ah, Gobbi, be advised, we are at the HUMVEE and it's ready to go. I've already notified the palace guards that we need a quick exit, so they're opening all the doors for us."_

"Roger that, me n' the sarge are almost there!"

He heard Davis chuckle over the radio.

 _"Hey sarge! Don't go too hard on the loot, I know what he's gonna say when we find him..."_

There was a pause as he mimicked Bradley's voice.

 _"Instructions unclear, got my dick stuck in the toaster oven and chased a snow witch up a mountain with no compass in the middle of a blizzard."_

Wolfe keyed the mic on his radio.

"Cut the comedy, pria't, or I'm gonna be burying two idiots on the mountainside when this mission is over!"

* * *

 **(30 minutes later...)**

LTC Long hopped off the horse cart just as it left the outskirts of Arendelle's capital city. The officer gave a friendly wave to the farmer, who returned the gesture and cracked the whip, clearly eager to get home. Long knew why the farmer was in such a hurry, he turned the collar of his ACU blouse up and shivered as he looked up. Snow had been falling ever since the queen had fled for the mountains, and it was already starting to accumulate on the ground. The leader of the Exiles took a detour from the main road down a graveled alleyway, which was fenced in on either side by a high, bristly hedgerow.

Long took a note of several bundled sticks and a design carved into the ground, which was by a small opening in the hedge. He pushed through it, and on the other side was a grey Sea Hawk military helicopter. Two soldiers, one in ACU's like him the other wearing Marine desert MARPAT were busy doing pre-flight checks, while a third soldier was in the pilot's seat. SSG Connors looked up from his work and gave Long a salute.

"Good to see you, sir."

Long returned the salute and nodded over to the chopper.

"Likewise, Connors. What's our ETA until wheels-up?"

Sgt. Jackson spoke this time, unplugging the headset he was using to communicate with Torrez.

"'bout another 15 mikes, sir. Torrez is using the de-icing element on the APU to make sure she's snow-worthy. Oh-"

He paused and opened up a crate by the improvised helipad, and pulled out a snow-camo parka.

"-You might need this, sir. It's getting pretty cold out."

Long accepted the jacket and pulled it on.

"I don't suppose either of you thought to make some hot coffee?"

Connors grinned and gestured into the Sea Hawk's passenger compartment.

"Got a fresh thermos in there sir! Why don't you get comfy, then we can rescue the loot from being lost on his Land Nav course!"

* * *

 **(At that moment...)**

Captain Pilton took a drag from his cigarette as he regarded the group of armed men that were part of Prince Hans' cadre. He then turned to his own men, the Damned.

"Gentlemen, Operation Icebreaker is a go. Lt. Perkins, you are to take Barrigan and Cooper and accompany Prince Hans here in retrieving the HVT. Remember your orders."

He got a chorus of "Roger that" from his men, then he turned to the sergeant.

"An' Barrigan?"

The dark-skinned NCO shouldered his combat shotgun and adjusted his parka.

"Sir?"

"Even though Perkins is technically the ranking officer, this is your op. You will obey any orders he gives you, unless those orders countermand the mission."

He glanced over to Perkins.

"Is that understood, Lieutenant?"

Perkins nodded enthusiastically holding up his FN2000.

"Yes, sir! Can't wait to try this puppy out!"

Pilton spared a glance at the audience, then continued addressing the sergeant.

"And Barrigan? Kabul Protocol is in effect. Use your own judgement."

Barrigan gave an evil grin.

"Roger that, sir!'

Captain Pilton watched as his men filed out of their hiding place, then turned to the audience.

"Just in case you were wondering, back in late 2011 in those dark last days before Kabul fell I left orders with all my men in Kilo Company that the Afghan National Army soldiers were to be kept a close eye on."

The captain took another drag from his cigarette.

"Y'see, by that point, any of the sensible people had already deserted the ranks of the ANA, because they knew it was a lost cause. Which meant the only ones still in the fight were either idiots, or ones who turned insurgent and waiting for the right opportunity to strike at the evil American infidels. Anyways, under the Kabul Protocol my men had orders that the ANA forces were to be summarily executed without warning at the first sign of turning against us. Even the slightest suspicion."

He paused.

"Harsh? Perhaps. Barbaric? Most certainly. But, the way we looked at it, those Pashtuns and hadjis all put together weren't worth one of my men, so I believe that killing all of them was worth it if it saved one American soldier's life."

The captain pulled out a cigarette.

"Well, things are certainly gonna heat up now, aren't they? Might as well grab some popcorn and enjoy the show."

* * *

 **(3 hour later, undisclosed location near the Mountain-Pass of Haukelifjell, 16:23 hours local time)**

The swirling storm of snow that blanketed the trees, and the wind howled through the pass as if alive itself. A distant voice could be barely heard through it all.

"Elsa! ELSA!"

Lt. Bradley felt like he had been chasing after the queen of Arendelle for hours. The rocky terrain had given way to dense forest, and the weather conditions were rapidly degenerating into blizzard conditions. The lieutenant mentally went back to his training, when he was at OTS it had been winter so he had opted to train with the 10th Mountain division and recalled the list of things needed to survive in the winter wilderness. He shivered and pulled the massive fur coat closer about him, at the base of the mountain he had traded his G-Shock watch to a passing farmer for some felt boots, heavy furs and goggles. The man had even volunteered to throw in a reindeer, but Bradley had declined.

Now, he was regretting his decision, the lieutenant knew that he wasn't going to survive on the mountainside out in the open. It would mean he would have to hunker down and ride the storm out, then go after Elsa when the weather cleared up. Bradley paused as his thoughts went back to the queen, her beautiful eyes, her smile, and her gentle, almost shy manners. Bradley hoped she was alright, he didn't know what went down between her and her sister but it couldn't be so bad that she had to flee her kingdom. He reached into the folds of his fur coat to pull out his radio, his oversized deerskin mittens fumbling awkwardly with it. Pulling off the glove with his teeth Bradley tried keying the mic on his radio.

"To anyone member of Misfit cadre this is Misfit One, anyone copy?"

Static greeted the soldier again, it had been that way since the snowstorm worsened. He had picked up odd bits of chatter earlier on, but the static was so bad he couldn't make out who was who. The military side of him recalled that he had disobeyed orders and knew that there would be hell to pay once the dust settled.

He stopped in front of a large tree with a snowdrift almost as tall has he was, and decided to set up an improvised shelter. Bradley got down on his hands and knees and starting burrowing through the snow like a dog, he had almost reached the bottom of the tree when he felt an odd sensation. It felt like his boot had caught on something, and when he tried to tug free, it felt like the grip tightened. Suddenly without warning the lieutenant felt himself being pulled bodily out of the snow shelter. Bradley felt the brief sensation of being upside down, when he was unceremoniously flung to the ground.

After the soldier brushed the snow from his face and sat up he was greeted by something that caused his jaw to drop. Looming over Bradley was a large creature that appeared to be made out of snow, complete with a spiked spine and talons fashioned out of what looked like ice. The abominable snowman or whatever was staring at the lieutenant as if he were something the dog left on the lawn.

Bradley gave a sheepish grin to the creature as he help up his hands.

"Er, howdy there, Frosty! Nice weather we're having, isn't it?"

The snow-creature continued to stare at Bradley, so the soldier continued stammering on nervously.

Say, I don't suppose you could help me...I'm a bit lost and I'm looking for someone...a pretty blonde gal who can conjure up ice out of thin air..."

He looked the snowman up and down.

"...matter of fact, you kinda look like something she'd make...scratch that you're too ugly and-Hey!"

The large snow monster glared down at Bradley as he spoke, then grabbed him by his fur hood.

"Hey! Put me down! Not that I don't appreciate the personalized service but you're not my type!"

But the snow monster paid the lieutenant's protests no heed, but spirited him further into the blizzard and up the mountain, to a fate unknown.

* * *

 _(AN: Uh-oh...we all know where Lt. Bradley is being taken to...he just keeps going deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole. I ended the chapter here because I wanted a nice cliffhanger, the next bit was going to shift perspectives to Wolfe and Co. as well as the Damned, but it didn't pace well. Not to worry, hilarity will ensue but remember, this is a SO:TL crossover so there's going to be some cruel plot twists ahead. Next chapter should be up some time either later this month or next month. It's about 40% written, it just depends on how things go for me at the new job. Until then, don't forget to follow/fav and comment away!)_


	16. Operation Arendelle, Part 5

_(AN: Okaaay So this took longer than expected...my apologies. But I promise I will update at least every other month...hopefully once a month. And if the Muse is with me it might even be twice a month! So here we are...getting close to the Mise-en-scène of this op when we first encountered it. It's obvious that our dear Lt. Bradley is smitten with Elsa, but will it be his undoing? What will happen to our boot loot when he finally is reunited with the Snow Witch? And will Prince Hans succeed where he failed before since now he has the help of Kilo Company? Well, read on and find out!)_

* * *

 **(Operation Arendelle: T+ 46 hours 54 minutes, Galdhøpiggen Peak, Jotunheimen Mountain, 00:34 hours local time)**

Elsa had many titles to her name; Queen of Arendelle, the Ice Witch, the Snow Queen, and others. But now she was just a scared 19 year old girl, her blue eyes wide with fright as she watched her ice palace crumble and melt. The once magnificent edifice was in ruins, with large gaping holes in the walls coughing out steam and chocking smoke.

"Elsa..."

She didn't even hear her name, partly because of the deafening noise of the craft she was riding in, but also because she was still in shock.

"ELSA!"

That got her attention, and she looked into a pair of dark blue eyes that looked worried. She looked down and realized she was still clutching Lt. Bradley's gloved hand.

"Are you alright, Elsa?"

She couldn't speak, but gave a small nod. Bradley glanced around inside the chopper's cabin, sitting opposite him was PFC Gobbi, standing in for a crew chief, and next to him was PVT Davis, with a grim look on his face. Bradley knew why. Pushing the dark thoughts from his mind, the lieutenant reached up and grabbed the headset and put it on. He keyed the mic to speak.

"Thanks for saving our butts, Torrez!"

Sgt. Torrez, the pilot, grinned as he responded.

"Yeah, I wouldn't be so happy to be alive. Sar'ent Wolfe and the Colonel have separate ass-chewings for you."

Bradley shook his head.

"Yeah, I think I'll take it..."

He glanced back at Elsa, who was still staring out the window at the ruins of her palace.

"I'd say it was worth it."

Their conversation was interrupted by a loud clanging noise as a hail of lead peppered the Sea Hawk's airframe.

"Shit! What the fuck was that?!"

PFC Gobbi sprung into action and armed the crew-served minigun. He shouted back.

"We've got company!"

As if to punctuate the sergeant's response a AHJ-6 'Little Bird' chopper rose up from behind the ruined ice palace and opened fire again. Torrez jerked the cyclic hard left, and the Sea Hawk banked sharply to avoid another stream of tracer fire. The bullets tore into what was left of the palace, destroying the buttresses that supported the palace on the side of the mountain. PFC Gobbi's training kicked in and he returned fire from the crew-served port minigun, a few shots hit the 'Little Bird' and it broke off pursuit.

The relief was short-lived, as a storm of arrows flew up into the night air. Bradley could see the coward Prince Hans had fled, but there were still around fifty of his men on the mountainside. Lt. Bradley sprang into action.

"Enemy QRF engaging!"

Gobbi's pivoted the minigun towards the bridge and shouted to Torrez.

"What's the ROE on local hostiles?"

Before Torrez could answer Bradley broke in.

"ROE is lifted, you are cleared hot. If they fire on you, shoot to kill."

Gobbi glanced over to Torrez, who shrugged.

"You heard the loot, take them the fuck out!"

As the private directed his fire towards the men by the bridge Torrez shouted back to Bradley.

"What the fuck happened down there, sir?"

Bradley's eyes momentarily went to Elsa, and remembered seeing Cooper and the other 'Damned' soldiers.

"It's worse than we thought...apparently the Damned are running around in this...well this magic world!"

"Whatdya mean, loot? You ain't sayin' that that prick Captain Pilton is alive?"

The lieutenant nodded.

"Yeah, I wouldn't have believed it, until I saw PFC Cooper in the flesh. He tried...he tried to kill Elsa, said he had orders because she was a dangerous witch."

He paused.

"Sgt. Barrigan was there too, I only saw him from a distance. Lt. Perkins was there too, but as usual he was just in the way."

The mood was interrupted by a loud rockabilly song blaring on speakers in the chopper.

 _"Gonna tell Aunt Mary 'bout Uncle John_

 _He claim he has the misery but he's havin' a lot of fun_  
 _Oh baby, yeah baby, woo_  
 _Havin' me some fun tonight, yeah..."_

Both Torrez and Bradley looked over to a large boombox that was strapped to one of the overhead bins in the chopper's passenger compartment. Sitting next to it was Davis, who was smiling evilly.

"Thought we could use some lighthearted music as we cut these bastards down, what do ya say, Gobbi?"

PFC Gobbi glanced back and grinned.

"I like it!"

The private let out another stream of tracer fire that cut through the hapless soldiers like a scythe through wheat. He briefly turned his attention to Davis and grinned.

"It's easy to tell who's a baddie and who's not!"

He turned his attention back to the targets and pressed the buttons on the fire control of the minigun, letting out another stream of lead at approximately 2,000 rounds per minute. He called back, his attention still fixed to the tangos on the ground.

"Anyone who runs is a badguy! Anyone who stands still...is a well-disciplined badguy!"

That brought out raucous laughter from PVT Davis and Lt. Bradley as well. Torrez shook his head and switched channels on the radio.

"This is Misfit Three calling Big Bad Wolf, how copy over?"

A gruff voice came through the static.

 _"Loud and clear, which is equal to the ass-kicking I'm gonna give you if you keep calling me that shit callsign! I've told you before, my callsign is Misfit One Actual."_

The sergeant grinned.

"Roger that, Misfit One Actual. Be advised, we have the HVP and Misfit One, we are inbound..."

* * *

 _"...we have the HVP and Misfit One, we are inbound..."_

SGM Wolfe felt someone clamping onto his arm, but continued.

"Roger that. Misfit One Actual out."

After he got a squawk in acknowledgement Wolfe set down the radio handset, then tried dislodging the queen's younger sister from him, unsuccessfully.

"Is Elsa alright?! Did she say anything?"

The sergeant major glared at Ana, which had about the same effect as if he were a piece of furniture. It must be some sort of immunity, Wolfe thought.

"The queen is fine, they're going to be here in about twenty minutes."

He ignored whatever the redhead was saying, he was still debating how he was going to chew out Bradley. He didn't know if protocol was to allow his superior officer to do the chewout or if it was a case of first-come, first-served. LTC Long was already asleep, he said he would formally reprimand Bradley in the morning. The old sergeant major shook his head and thought back to the previous day, before the newly-crowned queen of Arendelle was found to be a Snow Witch, and Lt. Bradley blindly followed after her. Back then he thought this mission was a mere shit-show, instead of the shit-spewing dumpster fire that it currently was...

* * *

 **(26 hours earlier,** **Jotunheimen Mountains, approximately 27 clicks outside Arendelle** **)**

"...Roger that, sir. Be advised, the storm is getting worse, I would hold back until it clears up and we have a secure location for you to land."

 _"Understood, sergeant. This is Misfit Actual, signing off...good hunting, Wolfe."_

SGM Wolfe turned off the long range radio in the HUMVEE and focused on navigating through the forest. The wind was howling and the blowing snow had reduced visibility to a meager few yards. Beside PVT Davis was trying to reach Bradley on his radio.

"I say again, this is Misfit Three calling Misfit One transmitting, how copy?"

Nothing but static greeting the private. He keyed the mic again.

"Loot, this is Davis are you out there?!"

That earned the private a dope slap from the sergeant major.

"Ow! What the fuck, sar'ent?"

Wolfe kept his eyes on the road, but he glared at the windshield as if it were an errant buck private.

"Maintain radio discipline at all times, pri'at...you know better."

Davis shrugged as he pulled off his headset.

"Can't raise the loot on the horn, but you know that already."

SGM Wolfe grumbled something to the effect that the dumbass probably forgot to turn on his radio. The HUMVEE's diesel engine growled as it navigated a snowdrift that came up to its hubs. Fortunately the truck's clearance and tires pulled itself through, and the skill of the driver. Wolfe, however, was still in a foul mood. Partly because the HUMVEE's heater was putting out as much warm air as a hamster breathing heavily on his feet, but mostly due to his companions. Or rather, the latest edition to his companions.

Ana, on the other hand, was in high spirits. Only a few minutes before she was facing down a pack of wolves with only a sharp stick, only for odd envoys from Albion to show up in their mechanized carriage to save her. As it turns out they were also looking for her sister, as well as one of their own. She was currently in the process of telling the dour _förste_ sergeant about her encounter with the dreamy Prince Hans.

Wolfe ignored SPC Mayfield's complaining about being stuck on on the M-2 turret to make room for the new passenger, but he had trouble ignoring the ginger riding in the back with PFC Gobbi, who was prattling on about her true love, Prince Hans. When she finally stopped talking the sergeant major looked in the rear view mirror and growled.

"Lissen princess, I'm a divorced senior NCO who functions on caffeine an' hate, not to mention tears of pri'ats...So it's safe to say I'm pretty cynical when it comes to matters of the heart, an' you can take this shit with a grain of salt. But I can you that if my baby girl brought home some mouth-breathing fucknut and said she just met him at the prom an' told me that it was love at first sight an' they're gonna get married, the last thing that's gonna go through Romeo's head is gonna be a .45 caliber bullet, courtesy of my 1911."

He paused as Ana was staring at him dumbfounded.

"Long story short, I would object to the engagement under the most strenuous terms imaginable."

The princess looked horrified.

"That's horrible!"

PFC Gobbi chimed in.

"Yeah, come on, sarge that's a bit extreme."

Wolfe thought for a moment, then nodded.

"Yer right, I'll stick to my shotgun."

"What!?"

The older sergeant chuckled humorlessly at Princess Ana's reaction.

"It'll be loaded with rock salt, okay, it ain't gonna kill him, but it ain't gonna tickle either."

Mayfield called down from the turret.

"Hey sarge! The storms clearing up a bit, I can see light ahead!"

Wolfe squinted through the frosted windshield. The blowing snow was subsiding a bit, and he could see a cabin in the distance, it's windows lit up like a beacon. He turned to Davis.

"Get Long on the horn and tell him we found a rally point."

"Roger that, sarge!"

Wolfe steered the HUMVEE to the front entrance of the building. It looked like a combination of a trading post and an inn. He turned his attention to Ana.

"Princess, you mind goin' in there an' wait for us in there? We gotta unload some shit."

He paused as he saw her shivering in the cabin, still wearing the tattered remains of her party dress. Wolfe reached behind him and pulled out a woolen military blanket, offering it to her.

"It ain't much, but it'll keep you from freezin' until you get inside."

Ana accepted the blanket gratefully.

"Oh, thank you so much, sir!"

Wolfe's lined face cracked into a slight smile.

"Don't call me sir, I work for a living."

Ana laughed at his jib as she pushed the door open and exited the HUMVEE. For a while Wolfe just wanted as the princess skipped into the outpost, then he turned and glared to the soldiers.

"You shitstains wipe those grins off your faces right now!"

He cleared his throat.

"This goes without saying, but Ana's off limits, period. She's under-aged, and she's royalty."

The sergeant major leaned in, his glare becoming murderous.

"An' if any of you mutherfuckers so much as has impure thoughts about her, I'll rip out yer nutsacks through yer navels."

He opened the door.

"Now hurry up and dismount! I ain't gonna freeze to death out here waitin' on you mouth-breathers."

* * *

Oaken sat behind his desk, mournfully fidgeting with the jar of lutefisk. Aside from the oddly dressed man who stopped by two hours earlier there had been no customers. The freak blizzard that came out of nowhere was to blame. Suddenly the wind howled and the man swore he could hear the sound of buzzing that shook the roof of his trading post.

Then a bright light shone through one frosted window. This caught his curiosity, and he stood up from his chair and cautiously opened the door. Some large object in the distance was shining a beam of light to his door, and he saw figures trudging through the snow. Ironically one was a young lady wrapped up in a drab green woolen blanket that she was wearing like a cloak.

"Come! Come in at once, or you'll freeze to death!"

One by one they filed in, stomping their boots on the floor to clomp the snow off of them. The girl was wearing a fancy green ballroom dress that looked ruined by the snow, but there were four other men with her. Their clothes were mix of mossy colors and dark green. One of them approached him and removed his face covering, revealing an older man with a dour expression on his face. Based off his body language around the girl this man must be her father, Oaken thought. The man spoke up in a gruff voice.

"You this trading post's proprietor?"

Oaken nodded uncertainly. The man's demeanor spoke of military.

"Yes?" he said somewhat uncertainly. The dour man responded

"And can you provide lodging for the night?"

Again Oaken nodded. The man glanced back at the other three strangers.

"Good, we are going to need supplies enough to last four men at least three days in the wilderness, and a night's lodging for five."

He paused and glanced over to the girl.

"An' make sure one of those accommodations are private."

He put a hand to his ear, and spoke to himself.

"This is Wolfe, go ahead."

He paused again, then spoke.

"Roger that sir, I'll debrief the men."

Then he turned to address Oaken.

"We'll need use of your barn to shelter our…transportation."

Oaken nodded.

"Yes, yes I can get you all that. But it will cost quite a bit, with the storm and all. Very hard to get supplies!"

The older man answered by dropping a heavy leather pouch on the counter, spilling its golden contents out. Oaken's eyes widened at the pile of gold coins, and picked up one of them up. He bit a corner of it, and it was real gold, and then broke out into a broad grin. He reached under the counter and produced a jar of foul-smelling fish.

"You're welcome to any of my stock, and all the lutefisk you'd like! Also if any of your men looking to settle down and run a trading post I have daughters of marrying age!"

SGM Wolfe shook his head, but then saw the G-Shock watch on the man's massive wrist, and a thought crossed his mind.

"Say, did you have any customers stop by, say one who kinda looked like us?"

Oaken shook his head.

"Oh no sir! Not like you, this I got from Lars, he is a trapper in these woods, he bartered it to me for some snow shoes. He said an odd man traded him this for some furs."

He paused for a moment.

"Come to think of it, he said the man was dressed all in green."

Wolfe chewed on his lower lip as he processed this information. It meant that Lt. Bradley had come through, even if he hadn't passed by this outpost he was certainly in the vicinity. He filed it away for future reference, then turned back to the other two soldiers.

"Defrost yourselves up by that woodstove for a few, then get the HUMVEE covered up. The colonel and the rest are inbound homing in on my IFF, ETA forty mikes. When they get here I want you all to back out there and help Torrez wheel the 'Hawk into the barn. We're going to need to winterize it before we take it out again."

He paused as the wind howled and rattled the rafters.

"And it looks like we're going to have to wait until the storm breaks before going out to search for the loot."

He closed his eyes.

"I sure hope Lt. Bradley's alright."

* * *

 **(At that very moment...)**

Marshmallow unceremoniously dumped its prisoner on the ground. Lt. Bradley was disoriented, having been carried upside down for what seemed like an eternity. He looked around, and saw that he was in some sort of castle made of crystallized ice. Bradley was still lying on the floor when he saw Marshmallow leave. The lieutenant glared at the giant snowman's retreating form.

"Thanks a bunch, Frosty. See if I ever give you a magic top hat again."

He then heard a feminine voice bark out a command.

"What are you doing in my realm?"

He pushed himself up on his elbows and saw a slender bare leg right in front of him, that was encased in a glittering blue dress. The owner of the dress was a pale-skinned woman with a platinum blonde braid that appeared to have crystals in it. Her ice-blue eyes regarded him coldly.

"I said, who are you and what are you doing in my kingdom?"

That set off something.

"Elsa? Is that you?"

The Snow Witch cocked her head to one side.

"You know my name? Are you one of the ruffians who were trying to hunt me down?"

She held up a hand conjuring up some ice in a threatening manner. Bradley quickly held up his hand.

"N-no, I'm not! I'm 2nd Lt. Bradley, don't you remember me? I was your dance partner at the coronation."

He saw something flicker in her eyes, then her eyes narrowed.

"Show me your face!" She commanded.

Then the lieutenant remembered he was still wearing furs and a heavy scarf covering his face, he hastily pulled down his scarf. That did the trick, The witch's eyes widened in recognition. He smiled lamely.

"I was the awkward guy who almost stepped on your toes."

Elsa's gaze softened for a moment. Then she spoke.

"B-but what are you doing out here?"

He grinned sheepishly.

"Well, chasing after you, I was afraid something bad would happen to you."

He looked around at the resplendent ice castle's grand hall, with its intricate designs and glittering edifices.

"Although you're doing okay, I see."

She leaned in, presumably to stare at his face, but then she paused and sniffed the air.

"I smell something…something delicious…It's chocolate!"

Bradley remembered the Swedish dark chocolate bar in his vest and he quickly opened up one of the pouches and pulled it out, offering it to her. Elsa's blue eyes widened at the sight, and she snatched it out of his hands. He watched as she fumbled with the foil wrapper, and caught himself ogling.

"Er, I like your new look, Elsa. It's really…cool er, I mean you look beautiful…ah not that you weren't before or anything..."

He saw the Snow Witch giggle at his discomfort as she took a large bite and wiped a bit of chocolate from her mouth.

"You're look so cute when you're flustered...What is your name?"

When Bradley mechanically started reciting his rank she held up a hand and smiled.

"I mean, what is your first name?"

"Oh, ah, it's Eric, ma'am."

"Mmmm, good name…"

Elsa took another bite from the bar and made a small gesture with her free hand, conjuring up an ornate bench made of ice with fluffy crystals for padding and sat on it. She then patted the free spot next to her.

"Please have a seat, Eric."

Bradley complied, and Elsa relaxed, throwing one bare leg over her other. It touched Bradley's leg, and he felt her touch even through his ACU's. She leaned over to look at him.

"So, Eric…you are not afraid of me? Afraid of my powers?"

The lieutenant took one of her hands in his gloved ones.

"No, I mean, you were a good gal back at the palace I knew that just looking at you...er-I mean looking in your eyes..."

He chuckled and shook his head.

"I'm really bad at talking to women, just so you know."

Elsa finished off the chocolate bar and giggled.

"I noticed, Eric."

Bradley smiled.

"Look, I know you're good, and any bad shit that happened wasn't your fault. Fact of the matter was we were dispatched to Arendelle because we thought there was going to be an attempt against your life. I guess our intel was faulty."

He heard a rasping noise and saw that Elsa was playing with the Velcro pocket cover on his sleeve. She looked up at him.

"But you are strangely dressed...even back at the palace your dress uniform was odd. Even taking into account that English king's court mage, nothing that have, not that four-wheeled carriage that moved on its own, or your clothes seem anything like this world."

Elsa looked directly at him, her blue eyes boring into him.

"What are you?"

She softened her gaze and smiled.

"I mean, I know you're human...But where are you from?"

Bradley gulped and took a deep breath. Not for the last time he wished that either 1SG Crosby or LTC Long was here.

"Well Elsa, it's a long story..."

* * *

Glossary:

ROE: Rules of Engagement, the internal rules or directives among military forces (including individuals) that define the circumstances, conditions, degree, and manner in which the use of deadly force, or actions which might be construed as provocative, may be applied. In this instance Lt. Bradley is basically giving PFC Gobbi free reign to rain lead down on Hans' men.


End file.
